Patchwork
by silvergryphon06
Summary: Family is not defined by blood, nor is it limited by it. Unshakable bonds are forged in the best and worst of circumstances. And in this decimated new world, those bonds are cobbled together in the most unlikely of ways, and between the most unlikely of individuals. AU as of the mid-season finale of season 5.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: **_**I ended up getting hooked on TWD and just couldn't stay away. I love this show! **

**This story will very obviously became AU by the mid season finale of Season 5. I haven't included anything specific just yet about the latest season, but if you don't want spoilers, then you might not want to read until you've caught up. This is an Daryl/OC fic, so if that isn't your cup of tea, please be respectful and just move along without flaming me to hell and back over it. **

**That being said, I would still greatly appreciate any feedback or constructive criticism. I'm always looking to improve my writing. :) **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, although I certainly wish that I did. With the exceptions of my original characters, everything else belongs to AMC. Lucky bastards…**

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><p>Stupidest shit he'd ever done, bar none.<p>

He could hear Merle in the back of his head now, calling him every _kind _of dumb fuck for it, and it only served to piss him off more that he didn't have a single damned thing to throw back at him.

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

He had a decent shot at that buck, so what the hell did he need to step around that tree for?

Because you second guessed your gut, that's why, Merle supplied. Couldn't trust the one thing other than Rick that'd managed to keep your ass from outta the ground. Ain't that right, Darlina?

He groaned. His lungs ached where he'd hit the dirt, but that wasn't nuthin' new. S'like when his old man used t'hold him under the water when he didn't fetch a beer fast enough. Naw, what was a bitch was the damn line of fire searing up the back of his leg.

"What the _fuck,_" he rasped, pushing himself up and rubbing the heel of his palm against his eye.

He'd screwed up somethin' fierce. No dinner and a busted leg for his troubles. Rick was gonna throw him to Beth as soon as he got back. And with the screechin' that worryin' magpie was capable of, he'd probably never get the ringin' out his ears.

There was a tiny sound behind him, from deeper in the woods, and without thinking, he twisted around where he was, his hand already reaching for his crossbow.

A knife at his throat, and a flash of auburn and dark blue stopped him cold.

"Don't...move."

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><p>If they didn't find somewhere to settle in for the winter, she wasn't sure they'd make it.<p>

Laura Honeycutt looked over her shoulder from the back of her horse, Chief, tugging on his reins gently and pulling him to the side. Reaching forward to pat his thick tan neck, she let her eyes rove over the other two horses as their riders also let them come to a stop. They were young, the eldest, a young man probably no older than fifteen, rode with a much younger girl in front of him. She was cradled between his gangly arms, chewing on the end of one of her pigtails. The second rider was a boy who seemed to be between the other two in age, maybe eleven, with shaggy hair that he was constantly pushing out of his eyes. Across his chest was slung a make-shift papoose, with a sleeping toddler nestled within the rough-spun burlap fabric, barely visible as his head rested gently on the older boy's chest.

All of them had the same dark auburn hair and blue eyes, marking them as kin, if not siblings.

The older boy looked to Laura questioningly, gaze scanning across the treeline on either side of them. His hair was long, kept tied back with an old piece of string and the tail seemed determined to sweep across his shoulders with every movement of his head. Carefully, he lifted a hand, his thumb and pinky finger extended as he made a swiping motion across his chin.

_What's wrong?_

His expression was so serious, more of a scowl than anything else, that Laura had to bite back a sigh. Slowly, she shook her head, the long braid of her own dark red hair swishing against her back.

_Nothing._

She pointed up to the midday sun with her left hand, then made a fist briefly before pointing at the ground.

_It's noon. We need to stop here. _

Her head tilted as he watched her for a minute, then nodded, glancing to his left where the younger boy sat astride a chocolate brown mare. Mindful of the napping bundle on his chest, he gathered the reins in one hand before cupping them together, his fingers locking over one another, then both hands flipping. They quickly separated as he made a swishing motion with both of them in front of him, looking towards Laura.

_Changing directions?_

She dipped her head to him, tapping the end of her narrow nose, then dismounted quietly. Hitching Chief to a sturdy-looking sapling, she strode to the first horse, a big black gelding, and held out her arms to the little girl. The last three fingers on her right hand were missing, but none of the children seemed to pay it any attention, the girl grinning at her suddenly and nodding, reaching back eagerly. The boy scooped her up under her arms and her legs spasmed together as she appeared to silently giggle. Laura's lips curved a little as she caught the child and gently set her on her feet. She touched her index finger to her cheek and spun it, then made the OK sign, tilting her head to imply that it was a question.

_Amie, you alright?_

The little girl nodded quickly, reaching up to pat Laura on the arm with a quiet smile. She suddenly dropped her hands down, cupping them slightly in front of her and wiggling her fingers as she made them go up and down rapidly before making the OK sign back.

_You ok, Aunt Laura?_

Laura flashed her a small, tired smile and nodded. Letting her palm rest on Amie's head for just a second, she then moved past her and to the mare. The boy astride it carefully untied the papoose and handed it down to Laura, who cradled the toddler in her arms as he dismounted. Amie came over and quickly took the baby to hold as the two boys hitched their horses next to Chief. With the youngest of them occupied among themselves, Laura leaned close to the boys and started whispering instructions,

"Matt, go ahead and start unpacking a couple cans out of the saddle bags, the easy open ones. After we eat, you can changes shifts with Brandon to keep watch with me."

The older boy quickly nodded and started rummaging, while the younger one, Brandon, pushed his hair aside and out of his eyes to look up at their aunt. She was reminded somewhat of a little ginny rooster, the way the gritty strands stuck up and feathered above his head. When they stopped for the night, she'd ask him if he wanted her to shorn it a bit for him. He'd probably turn her down again, but it had to be aggravating to be constantly shoving that mane out of his face.

Gesturing for him to follow her, she went to Chief and pulled her hunting rifle out of the saddle holster. Brandon mimicked her, pulling the slightly smaller one from his brother's saddle, but not before giving the mare, Gina, a fond pat on her chest. Brom Bones, the massive black gelding, nickered quietly, as if pouting that he received no attention, and Matt reached up to scratch behind his ears. Shouldering the gun, Brandon followed his aunt. As he walked at her side, setting up a moving perimeter with her, Laura gave herself some time to mull on her previous thought.

It was already late November, by her reckoning. She couldn't swear what the date was, but judging by how drastic the temperature drops were becoming at night, and the thick coating of frost in the mornings, that winter was no more than a couple of weeks away. With any luck, they'd avoid snowfall. This close to the mountains, however, there was no guarentee.

They really had to find somewhere to hole up soon. Easy access to water was a must. Grazing for the horses too. Food for themselves would come as it could. Provided that the local wildlife hadn't been killed off completely, they'd hopefully be able to set up traps and hunt. They had lucked out last year. Found an abandoned farm house at the edge of a small town at the state line between Georgia and South Carolina. It was where they'd found the horses too, surprisingly, the three of them left to die, locked in the barn. And the only reason they'd still been there was because it'd been a sturdy structure, sealed up tight enough to keep the living and the dead out. A bag of scavenged sugar cubes and the lure of a wide pasture had been all it had taken to get them outside. As soon as it had started to warm up, though, they'd had to clear out. Too many looters and shady looking groups had started flocking in.

They'd been rationing the little stockpile of preserved foodstuffs from their last incursion into a town, but that wouldn't last them through the next few months. And little Jacob was big enough now that he was eating solid food. The formula they'd been feeding him wouldn't be enough before long, and was probably going to just be harmful to him the longer they kept him on it. She couldn't be sure of that, but she _was _sure that the sooner they could get him walking and being able to take care of himself a bit, the better. Lucky for them, diapers were still one of the items most people overlooked anymore. That wasn't going to have to be a priority for much longer.

Laura's eyes methodically swept back and forth through the trees, listening for the sound of shuffling footsteps, or worse, paced ones. The dead were a big enough of a threat, but the living…

Her mouth tightened into a thin line.

Well, they'd learned about the living the hard way.

With a no small amount of pride, she glanced down at her nephew, pleased that he was nearly as quiet as she was, keeping his footsteps light and on top of the leaves. When he looked up at her, she nodded to him approvingly, and he flashed a massive grin, so bright and out of place in their current circumstances. It never failed to amaze her that any of them could even crack a smile anymore.

Gently, she cuffed him on the back of the head.

"Keep your eyes on the woods, Bubba," she whispered to him, lips quirking as she gave him a light push in front of her. "And don't act so damned cocky."

Rubbing at the spot where he knuckles had bumped him, she could see that his grin was still firmly in place. Laura shook her head. Boy knew her too well anymore. Well, long as he didn't do anything stupid, he could think what he liked.

So far they'd avoided stupid.

Sparing a glance for her maimed hand, she counted that fact a miracle. Honeycutts had a damned track record with stupid, she thought bitterly.

Making a large enough round to satisfy her there were no immediate dangers in the area, they circled back around to their small camp. Amie and Matt were sitting on a small blanket, sharing a cold can of Beenie Weenies between them. Looking up and spotting them, Matt grabbed one of the cans at his side and tossed it up towards Brandon, who caught it deftly. He stood, another can in hand, and left the rest of the open one for Amie and the baby. He passed Brandon, grabbing the rifle from him with a slight nod, one the younger boy returned, the smile that was on his features dimming a little as he looked up. But as soon as he turned his eyes on the two little ones on the blanket, it lit right back up again.

She wasn't the only one who could see it. She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose wearily and squeezing her eyes shut. Maybe she was relying on Matt too much. Putting too much responsibility on him. God knew, she'd drilled it enough times into his head, what could happen to the other kids if he screwed up. But she _needed _him. She couldn't be with them all the time, not when they had had to have food and supplies. And there was no way in hell she was sending any of them out to face something that she could keep them from. She might not could protect them from everything, but she was damn well trying.

She owed them, and her brothers, that.

Her eyes opened as she watched him walk closer, biting the inside of her cheek, guilt eating away at her belly more fiercely than the hunger pangs that were a constant now. With effort, she pushed it, and her thoughts, to that little corner of her mind reserved for things she just didn't have the time or energy to think about.

What was done was done.

As Matt came abreast of her, he held out his hand to her. She eyed the small can, then flicked her gaze up to her oldest nephew's eyes, blue on blue as she tapped her index finger against the barrel of her gun. She looked over his too slender face, took in how bulky the thin jacket he wore hung loosely on what were once shaping up to be broad shoulders.

She lowered her gun to rest the stock on the ground and gripped his bicep as much as she could with her bad hand.

"Nah. You eat, I had a little something on the ride," she murmured quietly, jerking her chin behind them, to the north. "Picked some of them apples out of that orchard we passed. It'll tide me over till dark."

She could tell by his expression that he didn't believe her. But either the hunger or the raising his daddy had given him compelled him to listen, and he popped the top of the can without any protest, mindful of the edge as he lifted it to his mouth and slurped down the beans with a grimace.

"Not so good cold," he muttered, cradling the rifle in the bend of his arm.

"Not much is, that come from a ca-," she cut herself short, brow furrowing as distant rustling, and an odd vocalization, reached her ears.

Instinctively, her shoulder curled forward, her knees bending in a defensive stance as she tucked the stock of the rifle into the crook of her shoulder. Matt caught her movements out of the corner of his eye, dropping the can and lifting his own gun reflexively. Nodding towards the other children, Laura held up her good hand, spreading all five fingers before making a following motion. Matt nodded once then turned on his heel, heading back. Knowing that he would come after her if she wasn't back in five minutes, Laura shot a wary look at the woods, in the direction the sounds had come from.

Slipping into the treeline as quietly as she could, she crept through the underbrush, easing her way past snaking thorn vines and tangled thickets that snagged at her threadbare jeans. Every other step she paused, listening, counting her own heartbeats. Her cheeks were flushed, blood pumping through her veins as she fought to keep her breathing even. Sweat had broken out across her forehead, prickling down her spine uncomfortably, and she swiped her jaw across the sleeve of her dirty sweater. There was a thick copse of trees ahead of her, their leaves barely clinging to bleached branches.

The rustling came again, a quick crunch of dead foliage that brought her up short. Couldn't be one of the dead. Didn't walk like that. They had unsteady, shuffling steps. This was just a brief sound. Then it came again. A deer maybe? The possibility almost made her stomach growl.

Keeping low, she stealthily moved forward, slipping the strap of her rifle over her shoulder and drawing the black combat knife she kept sheathed at her hip. She gripped the hilt tightly in her left, grimacing that it wasn't her primary hand, but considering the state of her right, she'd had no choice but to get used to it.

Narrowing her eyes, she slipped between two old maples, keeping her back pressed against one of their trunks as she peeked out from around it. She barely caught sight of a white tail vanishing in a flash into the woods, hooves scraping against the ground once, then nothing. Yep, deer. Laura let her breath whoosh out of her lungs, relief and disappointment mingling in her gut. They could have used the meat, and the hide. Well, at least it wasn't a threat, she thought, starting to slide her knife back into its sheath. She could sworn she heard a voice-

At the sound of a low groan, she stilled.

Her heart leapt into her throat when she saw a big hand reach upwards from the ground then flop down again, her entire body tensing. Keeping the knife against her leg, she slinked back behind the tree and came around the other side, edging along an uneven row of saplings. She was on a slight incline, granting her a vantage point to peer down at whatever was laying there. She saw a leg bending upwards, clothed in ratty black jeans. Then they sat up, and she saw it was a man, running long fingers through dirty, dark hair with another groan, the palm of his other hand pressing against his eye socket.

"What the _fuck_?"

The voice was raspy, rough like sun-chapped leather. Alive, then. Her lips pressed together as he swayed to his knees.

Steeling herself, Laura snuck closer, spotting a crossbow laying close to his hip and saw his hand already reaching for it. Breaking cover, she darted forward, her boots sliding on the slick dead leaves that covered the ground, she landed on one knee, slipping the tip of her knife under his chin as he started to turn around. Both of them froze.

"Don't...move," she hissed at him, her voice low.

He tensed and her bad hand whipped up to push against his chest in a warning. She could feel solid muscle under the flannel shirt he wore and her scowl deepened. He wouldn't be easy to put down, if it came to it. Laura kept her gaze on his evenly.

"You gonna do it, do it," he told her gruffly, pressing his chin just a little harder on the edge of her knife, stark blue eyes boring into her own, daring her, silently telling her she was bluffing. "Just make damn sure ya get it right the first time."

They stared one another down. Her leg ached where she kept all of her weight resting on it at such an odd angle, and her breathing was more ragged than she'd like. The buzz of fear and adrenaline actually helped to keep her hand steady, the edge of the blade resting against his throat, but not hard enough to break the skin. Suspiciously, she glared at him, her entire body as taut as a pulled bowstring. He so much as twitched the wrong way, and she'd drive her knife up through his brain, no hesitation, no questions asked. Not when she could still faintly hear the sound of the kids not all that far from where they were locked in position.

But God help her, she didn't want to. Maybe a little more blood on their hands didn't bother some people, but it did her.

Finally, after several heavy heartbeats, she canted her head the slightest bit to the side.

"I back off," she said quietly, "You gonna stay still?"

His eyes flickered to a spot behind her shoulder briefly and she fought down the urge to look. The corner of his mouth quirked slightly, but whether it was meant to be a smirk or something else, she couldn't tell. He looked back at her.

"Seein's y'all got me a lil outgunned, I reckon so."

His voice was still gruff, but she was starting to think that was just the way it was, gravelly and a little hoarse. She ignored his wry tone as she lowered her knife, easing up to her feet slowly as Matt suddenly appeared at her right shoulder, his rifle pointed at the stranger's head, his features set in a relaxed mask that was almost chilling.

"You alright?" he asked her evenly, his eyes trained forward. Unable to look at him, she nodded.

"Yeah." She exhaled roughly as she sheathed the knife then reached a hand out and pushed her nephew's rifle down firmly. He glanced at her skeptically, but at her warning look he lowered the barrel of the gun so that it pointed at the ground.

The man's eyes flitted between the two of them. He still hadn't moved, his hands hanging at his sides, fingers loose. She ticked her chin towards his crossbow.

"Unless you aim that thing at us, we got no quarrel with ya. You can be on yer way and we'll go on ours."

He watched them for about another beat before snatching up the weapon and standing. Matt's gun snapped up reflexively, but Laura pushed it back down again, sending him a hard look. He returned her stare sullenly for a second and she jerked the rifle from him.

"What the hell did I just say?" she asked him harshly.

He didn't answer, but the way his shoulders suddenly hunched was enough. He got the point. When she glanced back at the stranger, he had the crossbow slung over his shoulder, his eyes fixed on them intently. He was favoring his right leg, and now that he was upright, she could see the gash that traced along his calf, exposed through the gaping hole in his pants leg. It didn't look deep from what she could see, but it still looked pretty painful. If it was though, he didn't show it. His gaze raked over her, assessing, sizing her up, or so she thought. He lingered on her hand a second too long and she flinched, unconsciously flexing her thumb and forefinger. He looked briefly at her face, the muscle in his jaw working, as if he was puzzling something out in his head.

But then his focus shifted to Matt, observing him with the same critical scrutiny. He drummed his fingers along the edge of the strap of his crossbow and Laura took equal opportunity to appraise him. He was tall, and fairly lean, although she had come to expect that of people these days. If they weren't, that meant they were well off, which in turn made them targets. She didn't think anyone would target this man. Not unless they were dead certain they could kill him first. He was relaxed, or as relaxed as anyone could afford to be. She could tell just by the way he stood, one foot eased back, shoulders slouched, he wasn't threatened by them, or their weapons. Then she saw how tightly the muscles in his arms bunched where he held the crossbow on his shoulder.

Well, he might not take them seriously, but he sure as hell wasn't taking any chances either. He glanced between them again warily.

"Just the two of you out here?"

"No," she replied curtly, inclining her head in turn, her eyes flicking down to his boots then back up to his face. "You?"

"No." He looked her over again, his head tilting a bit.

Laura resisted the temptation to tap a blunt fingernail against Matt's rifle. After several minutes of tense silence, she nodded towards his leg, making up her mind.

"Then we'll get you patched up and take you back to your people."

He pursed his lips, looking down at his leg. "S'nuthin'. I can get back on my own."

"At least let us take a look at it. Don't know what you're gonna run into between here and wherever you left them at," she countered firmly. He might not thank her for it, but she'd rather think she sent him on his way with better chances than he currently had.

He looked as though he was going to argue, but when he lifted his head and saw the staunch set of her jaw, he let out a breath, his shoulder slumping a little.

"Shit...fine."

She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. "We're set up just through the trees. I'm Laura." She tipped her head towards Matt, handing him back his gun as she did so. "This here's my nephew, Matt."

"Daryl," he said, taking a couple steps closer, his eyes going back to Matt, who'd yet to look away from his aunt's features. She met his gaze, dipping her chin towards his shoulder.

"Put it away."

"Aunt Laura-"

She cut him off firmly, looking him earnestly in the eyes as she snapped her arm out to point at the man across from them, lifting both hands to make an 'O' shape on each side of her head then straightening them out and bringing them down on each side of her face.

_He's still a person_.

She flung her arm towards his gun, smacking her fist against the strap across her chest.

_Put it away_.

Reluctantly, he obeyed, slinging the rifle across his back, but not before he made a series of gestures between the three of them, each jab of his finger hurried and agitated. She could barely keep up with him, but it was pretty clear what his issue was. She held up her good hand, stopping his flow of signed words. She then held her thumb to her palm, letting her forefinger stick outward in an 'L' shape before twisting it downward, like winding a clock.

_Later_.

"Take point," she said out loud.

Matt stared at her with a skeptical expression, his gaunt features tight. She pointed up the incline, her jaw clenching as she stared at him fixedly. Biting his lower lip, he spun on his heel and stomped away, and she narrowed her eyes after him. They were absolutely going to speak later, she would keep that promise. Letting out her own breath, she turned towards Daryl, who grunted.

"Many of ya?" he asked as he fell in beside her, limping a little as his gaze drifting over the woods.

"Just me and my family," she said.

She could feel his eyes on her again. His voice lowered in pitch.

"Me too."

There wasn't anything else to say, so she let the silence settle between them. She kept an eye on him out of the corner of her eye, but her gut wasn't screaming at her, so she figured that her first instinct to not kill him had been fair enough. He didn't slow her down, keeping pace with her, albeit unevenly, as she strode up and broke out of the treeline. Matt was already in deep conversation with his siblings, both Amie and Brandon crowding around him, all three pairs of hands flying with gestures, as if they were all talking at once. She ran her eyes over them intuitively, searching for any injuries, but found none, much to her relief. Jacob was rolling about on the small blanket, his feet in his hands as he rocked back and forth with soft, happy burbles.

The older children immediately dropped their hands as the two of them rounded the horses, the younger two staring at the newcomer with wide eyes, fear and curiosity mingling in identical dark blue irises.

She sidled up next to Chief, patting his flank a couple of times as she dug through her saddle bag and pulled out the bulky first aid kit she'd put together over the last year. Gesturing towards the blanket, she ushered Daryl towards it. He sat down with a grunt, stretching his injured leg out and bracing his weight on his hands. She set down the squat tin of supplies and scooped up Jacob, bouncing him to make him giggle. Amie came up to her again without having to be asked and Laura gently set the toddler in the girl's arms.

She circled her index fingers around one another as she looked down into Amie's features, looking to Jacob meaningfully and pointing at the sunny patch of grass just beside the blanket. She then pointed two fingers to her own eyes, then back out towards the woods in a quick sweep.

_Take care of him right there, and keep your eyes peeled._

Amie nodded quickly, her eyes flickering to Daryl only once more before she cradled the little boy close with both arms and plopped down in the grass. Laura unslung her rifle and beckoned her nephews to her.

"Matt, do the same," she said aloud in a low tone, handing her gun to Brandon. "And keep an eye on one another, ya hear me?"

"Yes ma'am," they answered together, both of them moving away to take up close positions near the horses.

Her orders given, she then turned her attention to the man on the blanket, curling her legs indian style in front of her as she lowered herself next to him. As she flipped open the lid of the med kit, she could feel him watching her again. She ignored it, brushing back the weight of her braid over her shoulder. Pulling out half a bottle of alcohol and setting it between her knees, she also grabbed a packet of cotton swabs. She ripped it open with her teeth and pulled out a few, rolling them into a ball with the palm of her bad hand as she twisted the cap off the bottle with the other.

"Gonna sting like a bitch," she told him, to which he just looked at her like, 'no shit'.

Couldn't say she didn't warn him, she thought, reaching for his pants leg and applying a light pressure to get him to bend his knee up. She rummaged for a pair of surgical scissors she'd picked up, cutting the denim open a little more. "Eh, yer gonna need stitches." She ticked her chin towards the supplies. "Hand me the thread and needle in there, will ya?"

Right as he stretched his arm out to do as she asked, she turned over the bottle and poured a generous amount across the wound. He hissed in a breath through clenched teeth, letting out a string of colorful curses and jerking his hand out of the tin.

"Ain't over yet, Hoss," she chuckled humorlessly, pulling at the ragged edges of the gash to get a better look, swiping out dirt with the cotton. "And you're lucky neither one of them can hear you. Otherwise I might be a little less gentle."

He glared at her, shoving the thread spool and tiny box of sewing needles into her free hand.

She worked in silence for a while, meticulously picking out bits of debris. Every now and then she'd glance over at her niece and nephew playing, but otherwise kept trained on her task. her eyes flicked up to his face and saw the muscles in his jaw and neck working as he focused his gaze on the woods, like he was grinding his teeth.

"So what happened?" she asked, hoping to distract him a little. "You don't look like the type that'd just up and let a deer run over him. Grudge match gone south?"

He snorted. "Naw. Son of a bitch got spooked by somethin' while I was comin' up behind him. Stupid...should'a just nailed him when I made him, but I couldn't get a clear shot."

"And he mistook ya for a bowling pin," she said dryly, tossing the used swabs onto the blanket beside her and plucking up the thread. She eyed him as she unwound the spool. "You the only one huntin'?"

"I'm the best we got," he muttered, his tone matter-of-fact. She didn't doubt him. As she threaded the needle, he shifted a bit and she caught him looking at Amie and the baby. "This all of y'all?"

Laura felt her heart sink. She let out a slow breath, then looked up at him with a nod, scooting closer to his leg. "Yeah...yeah, this is all of us." She tilted her head towards the two close by as she started used her thumb and forefinger to pinch the edges of the gash together. "That's Amie and Jacob, and Brandon's with Matt right now." She pierced the needle through his skin and added, "They're all my brothers' kids."

"Wasn't gonna ask," he said tersely, his face tight. Laura lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug.

"Well, most people would wonder, since we all look a lot alike. Figured I'd get that out there."

He met her eyes when she looked back up at him, his head lolling to the side a bit as he settled back on his elbows.

"I wonder more 'bout why she don' react when somebody says somethin'." He nodded towards Amie, his eyes narrowing shrewdly. "Why she don' seem like she hears it." Bluntly, he added, "She deaf?"

Laura sucked in another breath, her hand stilling as she bent over his leg. She felt entirely too exposed by the question. And she wasn't even sure why. Well, that wasn't entirely true. It'd just been them for so long. Amie was Amie, and that was that. Even before th- Christ, she couldn't even bring herself to say it. Before...everything, it was just a part of who she was, and they'd grown around that. Adjusted the axis of their world so that she could go out into a wider one with a hint of neither shame or fear.

But that was a long time ago, and she owed this man nothing, especially nothing so personal as an explanation about her family.

So she kept passing the needle through his skin, keeping the strokes of her hand as even and smooth as she could. She heard him make a 'hhn' sound, but he didn't push her for an answer. Laura tugged carefully, but quickly on the thread.

"There," she said, after biting off the end. "Ain't pretty, but it'll hold ya together."

He pushed himself up far enough to take a look, twisting his leg. "Tch, ain't bad. Neater than anythin' I done. You a nurse or somethin'?"

"Medic," she answered, lifting both her shoulders. "Same thing, I reckon."

He made a noncommittal noise, probing the stitched seam with his fingertips. She unfolded her legs and stood, and reached her hand out to him to help him up. He glanced up at her, just a quick glimmer of blue behind lanky dark bangs. Ignoring her outstretched palm, he simply pushed himself up further, using the stock of his crossbow to brace his weight. He was a little unsteady for a minute and Laura had to fight back the trained instinct to support him, figuring it would piss him off. He didn't seem like the type who really cared for someone else helping him.

And like she'd expected, he didn't thank her either.

He put his weight on the leg, testing it gingerly, but when he went to take a full step, she put her hand out and grabbed his arm. He instantly tensed under her fingers.

"Hold it, you mule-headed fool! You keep that up and you're gonna tear 'em out faster than I can put the damned things in."

He gave her such a hard look she was half tempted to snatch her hand back from him, but she didn't. She glared right back at him, dared him with her eyes to argue with her. And for a minute, she believed that he fully intended to.

But then his eyes slid away from hers, to the edge of the blanket where Amie and Jacob sat playing. She saw something give, just a little, in his features. It was subtle, barely more than the tight lines around his eyes smoothing out, just a hair. If she hadn't been staring, she'd have missed it. Or mistaken it, the way he pressed his lips together, as if repressing a retort or smart ass comment.

But all he said was 'tch' as his gaze flicked back to her. He did, however, take the weight off his leg, settling it back onto his right. He looked past her towards the horses, one hand coming up to lightly scratch the back of his neck, like he was mulling something over. Suddenly he jerked his thumb over his shoulder, to the east.

"My people's camped 'bout a mile thataway. Ain't too many of y'all, so ya might can join up. Ain't up t'me though, and ain't no promises, with winter settin' in."

Too many mouths to feed was the underlying subtext of that. Thoughts were flashing too quickly through her mind to make sense of all of them as she considered the offer. Being with a bigger group meant their chances could be better surviving the next few months. On the other hand, they could just as easily kill them all, take the horses; God, they could even take Amie, Brandon, Jacob, sell them for supplies, _use _them. She shut down the fears down before they could choke her, bending down to gather up the first aid kit, shutting the tin lid with a snap.

No. No risks. It wasn't worth it. They'd been fine so far, done well. Between the five of them, they'd kept one another going. Kept one another alive.

It was enough.

She caught a glimpse of Matt as she turned, and felt her chest tighten. He looked so cold standing there, his arms folded across his skinny chest, pulling himself up to his full height, which granted, was taller than even this Daryl fella. He held himself stiffly, looking for all the world like the man he wasn't even old enough to be yet, the rifle casually slung over his shoulder.

And in that single split second, the knowledge that she was the reason for that look being on his face was too much. She half-turned to look back at Daryl.

His face was all hard angles; jutting cheekbones, a square jaw, and a nose that had clearly been broken at least a couple of times. His eyes were fixed in a permanent squint, but those eyes...you couldn't mistake them for anything other than a flinty, piercing blue.

Like Eric, her brother's, used to be, before he met Debbie.

She glanced towards the horses.

Like Matt's were now.

Taking a breath and schooling her features, she nodded to him.

"Fair enough. Can you ride?"


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N:**_** Thank you all so much for the favs and follows! Reviews are also very much appreciated. :)**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, although I certainly wish that I did. With the exceptions of my original characters, everything else belongs to AMC. Lucky bastards…**

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><p>Daryl wasn't entirely sure what had prompted him to ask the woman if she and her family wanted to join up with the group. They looked like they could handle themselves. Seemed like they'd been doing it for quite a while. Her sneaking up behind him and holding him at knife point made that pretty clear. And truth be told, he wasn't even sure that Rick would let them in. Couldn't blame him if he didn't. They'd been screwed over more than enough times. Better to look after their own.<p>

But, looking at that kid...all bravado and nothing but bone, and her damn near the same...A year ago, yeah, he could have walked away without a glance back. Let them take their chances on the road, same as anyone else. Before he'd started running with Rick, it wouldn't have even been a choice. Hell, even after.

Before he'd lost Beth.

Daryl had to stop himself from shaking his head. He'd gotten her back. She was safe. Hadn't been easy, but nothing ever had been for him. For any of them.

Carol...

Daryl gave into the impulse, the fringe of his bangs brushing against his nose. Not something he needed to be dwelling on either.

They had horses, that was something too. Since getting the hell out of Atlanta, they didn't have any vehicles to speak of. Rick had been steadily leading them north, hopefully following in Glenn and Maggie's footsteps. It'd taken a couple weeks, but they'd pushed far enough that they'd crossed the North Carolina line yesterday. He wasn't certain, but with the mountains marching to the west of them, he figured they were around the Smokies. The only reason they'd even stopped as long as they had was to just get a breather. They weren't carrying much, but after a couple days of almost non-stop trekking, even a relatively light backpack started to get burdensome. Horses could haul a hell of a lot more. It'd be easier than carrying every damn thing themselves.

Daryl ran the pads of his fingertips over the tight threads sewn through his skin. She'd done a decent job. All of them in the group had picked up basic first aid skills. They'd had to. Never knew what you were gonna be running into, or out of, anymore. Still, anyone needed stitches, it was rushed and sloppy. More than half the time, it got infected too, and they were blazing through antibiotics quicker than they were food. If this woman was a medic, she had training, and that could improve their chances more than he even dared to hope. More than just keeping them patched together. She'd know what to look for, what they'd need to keep an eye out for on runs. She was thin, features that could be fine with enough weight on her bones now simply appeared gaunt. But there had been a pretty good amount of strength pressing that blade against his throat. Could have just been the adrenaline, but he doubted it. If she'd been in the military, she'd known what she was doing. And the way those boys handled them rifles, she'd likely passed some of that training on, which made them less of a liability. They could be assets.

He felt luckier running across them than even when he'd seen the buck.

He'd probably feel even better once he could get off the damned horse.

Daryl shifted uncomfortably in the saddle, gathering the reins in one hand and rubbing at his throbbing leg with the other. Every couple of minutes, he'd flex the calf muscle, testing the thread's give in his stitches. She'd sewn the gash up tight, but not so much that it was going to be an issue if he needed to move. But each step the big gelding took was enough to send another bolt of pain rocketing up from his calf, making his teeth clench. Laura had offered him a couple painkillers, but he'd turned her down flat. Figured they ought to save them, either for someone else or themselves if Rick cut them loose. His injuries back at the farm had been worse than this and he hadn't taken anything then. Unless it was something to stave off an infection, he sure as hell wasn't going to now.

He glared at nothing in particular as the memory of that deer rushing him flashed through his mind. Damn stupid. Damn _fucking _stupid, that's what he'd been. Too damn worried about wasting arrows when he should have been still listening out for anything else that might have spotted the same prey. Started thinkin' too damn much, the voice that sounded like Merle piped up scathingly. Overthinkin' shit, like usual. Fuckin' lucky that sumbitch didn' feel up to rammin' one of them antlers up yer ass.

Snorting derisively, Daryl shifted his gaze towards the other two horses ahead of him. The little girl, Amie, he thought her name was, quietly twisted her fingers around themselves, her features animated expressively. Laura had pointblank avoided answering his question about her, but he didn't doubt that the child was truly deaf. He didn't think he'd ever seen children so quiet. Carl didn't keep his mouth shut as much as these kids did, and that was saying something. Even the baby was quiet, teething and sucking contentedly on a nipple they must have found somewhere, strapped to the older boy's back in a homemade papoose.

He glanced further up the line, to the lead horse carrying the woman, the younger boy's scrawny arms looped around her waist. His head swiveled left and right, watching for what his aunt couldn't as she picked her way through the underbrush. Every now and then she'd look up, checking the position of the sun and altering their course a bit when it strayed too far to her right. It was slow going, the woods choked with thorn vines and creeping weeds. The ground was uneven, hilly, rolling up steeply in some places and forcing them to circle round, the earth too soggy for the horses to climb safely. At least this mount was calmer than the last one he'd been on. Brom Bones was what she'd called him, patting his neck affectionately. So far, he'd proven to be pretty sure-footed, if a bit slow. It wasn't like they were in a great big hurry, but Daryl was itching to get back.

He'd already cost the group more than they could afford. He wasn't going to be able to hunt for at least a couple days, not without possibly making something worse. The knowledge made him grind his teeth.

Probably doin' just fine on their own, Darlina, said the little voice in the back of his head. Then it scoffed. Look at ya, stick around helpin' people for one whole year of yer miserable life, and suddenly yer worth somethin'. Shit.

He could almost hear the spit that followed.

Daryl winced when his horse's hoof slipped, jarring his leg against a sapling hard enough that he damned near saw stars. He bent forward over the horn of the saddle, his hand gripping his thigh so hard the knuckles were white.

"Son of a _bitch_!"

He was taking back what he'd thought about the bastard being sure-footed.

Pushing himself upright, he saw that the other two horses had come around. Laura guided hers beside him, her dark blue eyes skimming his face. She didn't ask if he was alright. Didn't even speak. Just watched him. With effort, he uncurled his fingers, blowing hard from his nostrils. He slid the reins over his palm and nodded to her. After a moment, she returned it, clicking her tongue softly and turning her horse about once again.

Nudging his own mount with his knees, he shifted again, sliding his foot back in the stirrup until it was just the toe of his boot resting in it. He could feel some of the tension go right out of his shoulders as the pain almost instantly eased. With the skin no longer pulled taut over the muscle, the stitches didn't feel like they were constantly about to rip apart. Easing out a breath, he guided Brom into motion, leading him back into the single file they'd silently fallen into.

He caught the oldest kid's eyes, dark blue irises narrowed warily, and coldly, on his own. Out of sheer reflex, he returned the glare. Daryl doubted he'd even so much as got a detention before the world went to shit, much less tried to kowtow somebody with just a look. Boy wanted to look mean, he had a lot to damn well learn.

"You got somethin' to say, man, say it," he said in a low tone, flicking his chin towards the trees ahead of them. "Otherwise, you'd best just keep both eyes where they'd do some good."

Matt's stare was unwavering as Daryl spoke, but his words seemed to sink in. He glanced away, towards the first horse and the smaller boy on its back. For the briefest second, his eyes warmed and Daryl was reminded strongly of Carl when he looked at Lil Asskicker.

Little glimpses of the kids' still in an all too brittle shell, and the thought had nagged Daryl that it would only take one good blow to send Rick's son hurtling over an edge there was no coming back from.

The impression stuck when the boy looked back at him, and his gaze iced over once again. This kid was no different.

His train of thought ended as Laura suddenly lifted up her hand in a fist, both he and Matt easing their horses to a halt. She tapped Brandon on the knee lightly and he immediately moved, the rifle across his back unslung and in his hands. Daryl scanned the trees ahead of them, listening for whatever had made the woman stop short. His gaze was drawn back to her as she started to make a series of quick, sharp gestures to the boy standing beside her. He nodded, and she twisted around in the saddle, and Daryl recognized the signal to wait as she looked towards Matt firmly. He watched her eyes drop to the little girl who'd leaned forward with a worried expression. Her features softened the tiniest bit as she flashed the child the 'OK' sign, nodding to her.

Then her eyes shifted to Daryl and she beckoned him closer. Quietly, he eased Brom forward, passing Matt and the little ones. He pulled the gelding to a stop next to Laura's, and she leaned closer to him, her voice low as she pointed to the thinning trees ahead of them.

"Ya said y'all set up in a barn next to a creek, yeah?"

"Yeah," he answered, able to hear the sound of water now that he was closer. He lifted a finger towards the small incline ahead of them. "That the only runnin' water 'round here?"

She shrugged. "S'far as I know. Ain't any others on th'map I got, an it's th'only one we've run across."

He nodded. "That's probably it then." He glanced up over his shoulder, squinting at the sun before turning his head and ticking his chin northward. "Reckon we head upstream a lil ways, should get there before dark."

"Aright." She leaned slightly in the saddle to look back at Brandon, who nodded and twisted around, slinging the rifle back across his shoulder, his hands already gesturing towards Matt. As he did so, Laura's eyes falling to the crossbow on his back. "Ya any good with that thing?"

"Killed one or two walkers with it," he said simply, meeting her gaze. His head tilted as he slipped the weapon off his shoulder, cocking and loading it in a series of practiced snaps. Settling it across his thighs, one hand curled around the stock as the other held Brom's reins, he asked her gruffly, "Take point?"

She glanced at his leg, her lips pursing.

"Aright," she repeated, lifting her eyes again. "S'long as ya get it right th'first time." Her lips twitched as she tossed his words back at him, smoothing Chief's reins over her palms. "Ain't gon' be on _my _head if ya lose it."

Frowning at her, he clicked his tongue at Brom, lurching a little as he set a course over the little hillock in front of them. He heard the other horses fall in behind them. Urging the dark gelding forward into a quick trot, the horse easily cleared the small ditch, landing with a thump that made Daryl see stars, searing pain lancing up his leg. Biting the inside of his cheek so hard, he tasted blood, he kept the horse going, reaching the top of the hill quickly.

Creek was probably too generous a term. Might have been once. Stream was more along the lines of what it actually was now, a small trickle of water flowing over rounded rocks, many of which were far too dry for his liking. It'd completely dry up before next summer. If it didn't freeze up in the mountains further north, or any beavers that happened to be left didn't damn it up before then. Wasn't going to be a good source of fresh water in the long run. Still, it'd do for a few days. Enough to fill up canteens, water bottles, and the like. Beth had seemed to just be happy to get a chance to wash some things. Said it made her feel more human.

Eh, he figured they could use as many things like that as they could get.

Brom picked his way through the tangled weeds, down to the creek bed. Checking to make sure Laura and the kids were still behind him, Daryl turned the horse upstream, keeping one eye on the trees that edged the other bank and the other on the shore passing under Brom's hooves. The sound of bird calls and crickets was a good sign. Still some other wildlife nearby. Meant running into that buck hadn't just been a random chance. Likely was more roaming around, maybe some rabbits, squirrels, even raccoons.

They rode silently for a long while, couple hours by his reckoning. The sun was well behind the trees. With his attention split between keeping watch for walkers on each side, it was a wonder he spotted the hoof tracks. They'd barely made an imprint in the dry sand. Holding up his fist to halt the others, he dismounted gingerly to get a better look. As his eyes traced the prints, he dimly heard someone else swing down and approach. Boot treads scraped on the tightly packed sand, then stopped next to him.

Her dark red braid swung against his elbow gently as Laura swooped down into a crouch, reaching out to run her fingertips lightly along the edge of the tracks.

"Lone buck, not even a couple hours, looks like. And he's wounded," she murmured, touching a fingertip to the dried drops of blood on the ground before turning her head to look up at him speculatively. "Might be yer boy." She then looked towards the woods, where the sun was disappearing. "Might have time t'track him down, bring yer people somethin' worth eatin'."

"Tryin' t'endear yerself or somethin'?" he asked her dryly and her lips curved into a slight smirk.

"Ain't got nuthin' 'gainst improvin' m'odds. And I figure offerin' a full belly on top of whatever else I got won't hurt," she said, pushing up and brushing her palms over her jeans. "Make it seem more like I can provide, rather than just live off 'em."

Daryl eyed her for a long moment. Then his lips twitched again. "Tch. You ain't stupid, I'll give ya that."

"I try." Her gaze flickered between him and Brom. "Need a hand?"

"Nah." Shifting his weight, he pointed off to the right, across the creek. "He's got one of my bolts in him, left flank. Doubt he got far."

"Not likely," she agreed, her fingers drumming against her thigh as she considered the opposite bank. She straightened. "I'll send Matt and Brandon. The ride's been a bit rough, the horses could use some time to cool down. We'll set off when they get back. Ain't gonna let 'em be gone more than an hour, most, though."

He half wanted to argue, but without the horse, he wasn't getting very far. Reluctantly, he nodded his agreement, chewing on his bottom lip, and she strode back to Chief and the kids. Hobbling a bit, Daryl took Brom's reins and led him to the waters' edge. Dropping them, he bumped the side of his fist against the horses' thick neck and let him drink as he moved towards the slope of thick roots and piled leaves that slunk along the bank. With a grunt, he dropped to the ground, settling his back against a tree trunk that curved over the water, reaching into his shirt pocket for his pack of cigarettes. Weren't that many left, but he sure as hell could use one right about now.

Lighting it, he observed idly as Matt and Brandon, quickly crossed the creek, matching red heads disappearing into the woods on the other side in less than a moment. Unconsciously, he rubbed at his leg and took a deep drag of the smoke, blowing it out between his lips with a heavy breath. Amie had the baby in her arms again, settled on a large rock that jutted out into the water. She'd shucked her shoes to dangle her bare toes in the icy current, pointing to things no one else could see as she gently bounced the little boy on her knees. Laura stood by the other horses, checking them over as they drank. Seemingly satisfied, she let them be, and started walking towards him.

Daryl watched her out of the corner of his eye as he pinched the cigarette butt between his thumb and forefinger. She leaned her back against the tree, bracing her forearms on her knees as she settled onto the ground next to him. Almost instinctively he felt his gaze drawn to her hand, to the set of scarred, bumpy ridges where her last three fingers should have been. He cocked his head a little, considering the rough-looking skin that covered her knuckles, the texture reminding him of burns.

As if she felt the brush of his eyes, she lifted that hand to push back tendrils of deep red that had escaped the confines of her braid before holding it out in front of her. He watched the play of muscles in her lean arm for a brief second, then watched her features as she spoke, meeting his gaze evenly.

"IED in Iraq, bout two weeks before I was supposed to rotate back to the States." The small smile she flashed at him was humorless. "Actually didn't look half as bad then as it does now."

He snorted, handing her the cigarette, watching the ember's light catch in her red hair. "What the hell were you doin', pickin' the damned thing up?"

"Nah," she said, exhaling the smoke slowly as she gestured. "Was pullin' my dumb-ass buddy outta the way. Grabbed him by the jock strap and yanked." She chuckled dryly. "Poor shit talked a lil higher for a little while after that, but he lived." Then her smile faded. "Not sure it was worth the effort. Not after this."

He didn't need her to elaborate on what 'this' was. It was what had screwed everybody over. The turn, the world ending, the apocalypse, whatever the fuck you wanted to call it.

"Not sure I'd think it was," he muttered, accepting the cigarette back and taking a deep brag. The faintest flavor of spearmint tinged the smoke and he grimaced slightly. Shit, he hated how mint tasted. Daryl shot Laura a suspicious glare, but if she noticed, she didn't show it, her eyes set on her hand as she flexed the remaining digits.

"Reckon I can't say I wasn't lucky, though, in some respects. Kept the second most important fingers, anyway."

When his brows rose a little, she grinned crookedly and raised her other hand, flipping him the bird. The corner of his mouth quirked at her black humor, plucking the smoke from between his lips.

"Don't slow you down none," he rasped quietly, handing her the cigarette back. His eyes flickered towards the two kids playing across from them. He nodded in their direction. "Don't look like it slowed them down neither."

She glanced over to where he indicated, a small smile curving her lips as smoke escaped them in a thin tendril. "Nah, it don't."

Daryl tapped the end of the cigarette when she passed it back to him. "Been mindin' 'em this whole time?"

"Pretty much, yeah," she answered softly, her expression turning somber. "Amie and her brothers' parents turned before I could get them out. Jacob's mom, Natalie, got caught in a crossfire. Militia trying to re-establish some order. Didn't seen to really give a shit who they shot. Hell, I barely got _us _out." She looked over at him. "S'like the war all over again, you know? 'Cept the ones dyin are either people you've known yer whole life or people ya'd give yer life for." She exhaled the last of the smoke, letting her head fall back against the tree. "Don' seem like th'ones that need killin' get there."

"Heh, I'm with ya there," he murmured.

They were quiet for a little while after that, the silence stretching between them, although it wasn't uncomfortable, each of them wrapping themselves in their own thoughts. Daryl eyed the overgrown fields beyond the rickety fence that was barely staying upright, dropping the cigarette butt to the ground and grinding the heel of his boot across it.

"Military brat?" he asked her, setting his crossbow in his lap, index finger resting above the trigger.

She smiled thinly.

"Nope. Joined the Marines right after high school." She looked back at Daryl, and he could feel her gaze traveling over him. "What about you? Ya army?"

He lifted one shoulder, his eyes fixed on the trees beyond the creek. "Nah."

He waited for her to ask another question, but she didn't. She just nodded, her hands dangling between her drawn up knees. She suddenly sat straighter as a rustling came from across the water. Daryl pushed up onto his feet, crossbow up and pointed towards the source of the noise. Matt and Brandon appeared, dragging the buck's carcass between them, and he relaxed a bit, lowering the weapon. Laura got up and walked past him without another word, beckoning to Amie as she did so.

The little girl dipped her head and quickly stood up, carefully crossing over the slick rocks back to the sandy shoreline, the baby cooing in her arms. Laura gestured at the boys to stay where they were. Pulling up Brom's reins, she nodded to Daryl.

"Keep an eye on 'em for a minute."

She didn't wait for a response from him, just swung up onto the gelding's back and guided him across the stream, his big hooves splashing. Daryl watched her approach the two boys out of the corner of his eye as he swept his gaze back and forth along the trees. With quick, experienced motions, Brandon wrapped each pair of legs with a bit of twine his brother handed him, and between the two of them, they lifted and set the deer across the back of the saddle. Laura twisted around enough to hand Matt a couple lengths of what looked like the remnants of belts, simple strips of hide, and the boy swiftly secured their prize. Seemingly satisfied that it wouldn't get jostled loose, Laura jerked her head in his direction, and both teens scampered over the water as she followed at a more sedate pace on the horse. Back on his side, she dismounted next to him.

He lowered his crossbow as she nodded to him again. "Much obliged," she said seriously, handing him the reins and the bolt she'd torn back out of the deer before adding, "Nice sized buck. Could probably get a couple meals out of him, if he's cooked right. Figured since yer the only one ridin' solo, you and Brom could carry 'em."

He took them without comment, his calf muscle screaming in protest as he hauled himself up atop the gelding. The children were in a flurry of activity, hurrying back and forth to fill canteens, checking saddles and horseshoes, making sure they'd left nothing behind. Daryl watched them with interest, his crossbow once again settled across his lap. They were quick, but thorough, and obviously well practiced. It only took them a few minutes, about the same amount of time as it had taken them to break camp, and they were saddled up and ready to start moving again.

Laura guided Chief next to Brom, Brandon at her back. Her head tilted as she pressed her lips together, before she pointed upstream.

"How much further do you think?"

Daryl shifted, squinting up at the sun as it set lower and lower behind the trees.

"Not much. We can cross onto the other side when we get there, once the woods start opening up."

"Opens up to fields?"

"Yeah."

She chewed on her bottom lip with a thoughtful expression, before saying, "Not much in the way of cover then."

Daryl clicked his tongue to Brom, getting the horse started as he answered, "Other than the barn and a stretch of fence posts, no." He glanced back at her as she nudged Chief into motion. "Probably a good thing we ain't plannin' on stayin' long."

"Ain't never been a big believer in plans." She half-turned to signal something to Matt.

Daryl snorted. "Me neither, t'tell ya the truth. But Rick always seems to have one, and he's done right by me and the rest of 'em."

He saw her glance at him. "Reckon that's the man I need t'talk to."

"Yeah."

They fell quiet. Even the water running its course beside them appeared to hush in the gathering twilight. The birdsong that had occasionally broken through the boughs above them stopped, making the sound of hooves crunching on sand to seem that much louder in his ears, every every equine exhale sounding off like bellows. He half fancied that if he cared to listen hard enough, he could hear the others' breathing.

He hadn't been that far off the mark. Within about an hour they, and the stream, passed the last tree into what might have once been open pasture, now overtaken by long grass and thick weeds. Up ahead, the water wound its way up to a large, dilapidated barn, the planks obviously untreated and bleached pale from constant exposure. A flash of light caught Daryl's eye.

"Looks like your people know we're comin'," Laura remarked quietly, her eyes trained on the figure that suddenly stood up from the grass and started trotting across the field.

Based on the shape of the hat, Daryl knew it was Carl. Rick often had him on watch, more frequently now that Glenn and Maggie had set off with Abraham and them other two to D.C. Boy had good eyes and was a damned good shot. Kid was smarter than he liked for people to think too. But he didn't mention that to the woman riding beside him. If she stayed, she'd learn. If she didn't, better for everyone that she went on her way knowing as little about them as possible.

Daryl led them out of the creek bed, crossing through the water and up into the opposite field. The barn door was thrown open and he could see several people milling about, all of them staring out towards the approaching riders. As they drew closer, the shoddy wooden fence he'd mentioned came into view, unpainted and in bad disrepair. Most of the boards were missing, and the few that remained clung to the posts by no more than a handful of rusty nails between them. Farming equipment had been left in the barnyard to rot, tractors, a combine, and what might have once been an old-fashioned buggy stood dejectedly. Not too far from them lay a massive pile of ash and charred wood, the remnants of the farmhouse that must have served as a home for a family in a now bygone time.

Rick stood between two posts, his hands on his hips and a relieved expression on his features. He grinned widely at Daryl, lifting an arm in a broad wave that the other man mirrored as he slowed Brom to a stop.

"Good to see you, man," Rick greeted him warmly, reaching up to clasp Daryl's hand with his, his eyes flickering to the deer strapped behind him. "And that you didn't have to come back empty-handed."

Daryl grunted, reaching back to tap a finger against the buck's neck. "Eh, can't take all the credit for it." He swept his arm towards the other two horses, their riders sitting quietly as the group started to gather around them. "Them right there's the reason I got back before dark at all, and with supper." Rick's eyes fell to the gash in Daryl's jeans, widening slightly at the visible stitches.

"What happened?"

Daryl looked down at the gash with a shrug. "Bastard charged me. Reckon I got out lucky, though. Shit was runnin' right at me." His gaze quickly leaped towards Laura, who eased Chief a little closer. Daryl canted his head in her direction. "She patched me up. Says she was a medic."

Rick leaned closer, gingerly picking apart the tears of the fabric to get a better look at the injury. "Looks clean. No swellin', stitches pretty even." He glanced at Laura and nodded. "I appreciate you bringin' Daryl back no worse for wear."

Her smile was wan. "It won't do him much good if he keeps tryin' t'push his luck on that leg."

Rick chuckled softly, his hand dropping away and stepping back to let them dismount. "Yeah, he's a right hard-headed bastard when he wants to be."

"Still here, assholes," Daryl grumbled, biting back a groan as his feet hit the ground. He quickly scanned the group for Beth, feeling some of the tension leave his shoulders when he didn't see her. Good. He might get a few minutes peace before they started mothering.

He loved her, he really did. She was part of the family he'd never gotten to have, but between her mothering and Carol's, they could drive a man up the wall. He'd be lucky to keep his crossbow for the next couple of days. He should never have taught her how to shoot. Gave her too easy an excuse now when she thought he wasn't getting enough sleep.

Evil woman.

Rick eyed him for a minute, watching, and Daryl tried to keep the pain off his features. The expression on his friend's face, though, promised that they'd be talking more about it later. Rick extended his hand towards Laura, who took it and shook it firmly.

"Rick Grimes."

"Laura Honeycutt." She gestured for the children to come closer, and Daryl didn't fail to notice Matt's hand reach for his sister's shoulder and squeeze as they stood at their aunt's side.

"Good looking group of kids," Rick said with a slight smile, his gaze traveling over them, and the weapons over the boys' shoulders.

"Thank you." Laura jerked a thumb towards the horses. "We've got medical supplies, some food and water, extra blankets, if any of y'all be needin' 'em."

"Appreciate it," Rick replied sincerely and stepped aside, gesturing them towards the barn. "I reckon we've got a good bit to talk about."


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: **_**I just want to take a second and say that I was hit incredibly hard in the feels after last night's episode. Ugh... I won't spoil it for those of you who haven't watched it, but, dammit, I'm absolutely changing some things around to my liking! I personally found so much of that whole arc to be, in the end, pointless. Well, that's probably isn't the right word. More like, I felt empty after watching it, kinda hollowed out. Maybe that was part of the idea, but it mostly just seemed to be about toying with the audience's feels, and there was so little development in terms of characters and plot, aside from a handful that it's been hard for me to get into this season. Maybe y'all saw it differently? Anyways, rant over. **

**On a happier note, I'll be filling in the holes from the episodes from the first half of season five (or at least, my own spin on how they unfolded) bit by bit as the story progresses. Thank you guys so much for the continued favs and follows, they are very much appreciated! Please do leave a review if you're enjoying the story! :)**

**If you haven't seen any episodes up to and including 'Coda', then be warned that there are major spoilers ahead!**

****Disclaimer: I own nothing, although I certainly wish that I did. With the exceptions of my original characters, everything else belongs to AMC. Lucky bastards…****

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><p>Daryl waited until Laura and the others were well out of sight in the barn before he went back to unload the deer. Last thing he wanted was someone else trying to tell him what to do and how to do it. Merle was doing more than enough of that to set his teeth on edge.<p>

Unhitching Brom from the fence post, he led the big gelding to the side of the barn, where a large pecan tree stretched its branches over the roof. The sun was about to set, casting everything in that orange and golden glow that just preceded the slow darkening into night. A flock of blackbirds, startled by the horse's sudden nicker, rushed into the air in a flurry of disgruntled squawks and inky feathers, drawing Daryl's attention. He watched the flock veer and swoop further out across the overgrown field that stretched beyond the yard, and wondered if it would be worth the bolts to shoot a couple down.

He decided against it almost as soon as the idea occurred to him. None of them looked fat enough to make a decent meal for one person, let alone a group. Ignoring their indignant cries, he stopped Brom with a gentle hand against his broad black chest, patting him reassuringly. The horse blew hard through his nostrils, dipping his head, only to toss it up again and paw at the ground.

"Aright, boy," he murmured, running his hand over the gelding's thick neck as he circled towards his flank.

It took a couple minutes to undo the boys' careful knots, much to his irritation. But, they came loose after a few good yanks, and with a hard pull, the carcass heavily dropped to the ground. Stepping over it, Daryl reached for Brom's reins and, with a push, turned the gelding around and led him back to the others. Re-tying him between Chief and Gina, he also grabbed a coil of rope that someone had looped around another post. He slung it over his shoulder, loping back to the deer.

His leg throbbed when he dropped down to a crouch next to it, tossing the rough hemp to the grass beside him. It'd be easier to string the buck up now, then gut it, but he wasn't sure he could lift the son of a bitch without reopening the wound. It might have been worth the chance just to get the job done, but he really didn't care to get the earful that'd be due when Laura saw it.

He'd figure it out. Right now, he needed to get the damned thing dressed before it started to swell. Shedding his jacket and throwing it over where he'd dropped the rope, Daryl drew the knife from his belt and clenched it between his teeth as he gripped the deer by the legs and rolled it with a grunt. The belly exposed, he ran his fingers along the fur that covered the rounded flesh, searching for the seam. He found it, releasing the knife into his right hand. Thrusting the blade into the soft tissue, he worked it up towards the chest cavity, ignoring the stench that wafted up as the deer's insides were exposed.

He was so intent on what he was doing, he nearly missed the soft tread coming up behind him.

Pausing, he glanced over his shoulder.

"Yer gettin' better at that," he observed with a slight upturn of his lips, nodding towards Beth as she approached, her bony arms wrapped around her middle.

"Had to," she said easily, although he could see the way her shoulders stiffened at the admission.

She hadn't told him anything about what had happened in the hospital, and he didn't much feel like asking. He already suspected, and he tried not to dwell on it. The bastards responsible were gone. They'd seen to that. Dead or alive,every last one of 'em. Getting pissed about it wasn't going to do Beth any favors. It wasn't going to take the dark, haunted look out of those baby blue irises.

He felt a knot form in his chest as he took a minute to study her. The bruises and scrapes were healing, the mottling that had dotted her china doll features fading. Black smudges had appeared under her sunken eyes, stark against the chalky whiteness of her skin. She'd been thin before, hardly more than a bean pole, but now she looked almost skeletal. He'd have bet that if she'd lifted her shirt, he could have counted each and every one of her ribs.

He gnawed on his bottom lip to keep the words he wanted to say from leaping off his tongue. Woman was more hard-headed than even Rick. He could preach until the sun came up, and she'd only nod, pleasantly agree with him, and then march off in the opposite direction with absolutely no intention of listening. He knew he'd do the same thing. And he also knew this wasn't about stubbornness. It wasn't even about what had been done to her.

It was about what she hadn't been able to do for Carol.

He'd wanted to tell her that it wasn't her choice. Carol had made the call to give them time to get out of Atlanta, and no matter how much they all wished she'd have made a different one, there was no way to change what had already happened. He wanted to tell her that he missed that woman just as much, if not more, than anyone else; that he was still waking up, drenched in sweat as Carol's eyes continued to flash, staring pleadingly into his own as the walker sank its brown teeth into her throat.

But anything he said about it would be met with a silent, doe-eyed plea to just drop it.

So he turned his back to her and started back on the deer without a word. If and when she wanted to talk, he'd listen. But if she didn't, it didn't matter. The fact that she was important to him wasn't going to change.

Just like the fact that Carol was gone didn't change that fact either.

"Seems like those folks ya brought back are nice enough," she said quietly, leaning back against the barn, her fingers plucking at the material of her thin green sweater.

"Reckon so," he replied with a slight nod, shifting a little so that he could get sink the knife in at a better angle.

"That redheaded woman must be somethin', if she managed to sew ya back together and still come back with ya," Beth teased, and without looking, he knew she was grinning.

He scowled down at the deer, then felt her come up behind him and gently tug on a strand of his hair. His head jerked up and he glared at her.

"What?!"

Her grin didn't waver. "Don't act like ya don't enjoy bein' thought of as a mean-spirited cuss most of the time. You like the image."

"Ain't an image," he said, making a grumbling sound under his breath, but he didn't refute her, which only seemed to entertain her more.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," she said lightly.

She shifted to stand next to him, looking down with a smile he hadn't seen since they'd holed up in the funeral home. It made the tightness in his chest ease a little. She had been pretty distant these last couple of weeks, even from him. It was...nice, to see a glimmer of the old Beth peeking through, returning to the playful way she'd started to take with him. Didn't matter that it was a front.

She was tryin'.

His breath hitched painfully in his throat at that thought, one of the last conversations he'd had with Carol flashing through his mind, and Daryl was glad when Beth didn't make a show of noticing. He caught a glimpse of something at the edge of the barn and let out a breath, simultaneously grateful and irritated for the continued distractions.

Weren't nobody going to let him clean the damned deer.

Wincing, he straightened, just as Beth spotted Rick striding towards them, striding through the barnyard towards them. A guilty look flashed so quickly across her face, he'd have missed it if he hadn't been watching her. With a slight smile that Daryl didn't believe for a minute was genuine, she reached out and touched his shoulder briefly.

"I'm gonna see how I can help with supper."

He didn't much like how she was dismissing herself, but he didn't argue with her about it. When he got a chance, he'd talk to Rick. Beth had more than her fair share to deal with, without blaming herself for things she'd had no control over.

He didn't give voice to that intention, however, merely nodded to her, wiping his hands off on the rag he kept tucked in the back pocket of his jeans. Daryl watched her quietly return it and set off at a quick pace, passing Rick with barely more than a glance. The ex-sheriff, for his part, slowed his stride, turning his head to regard her retreating back with a troubled frown.

Daryl narrowed his gaze, shoving his lank hair out of his eyes with one hand. Rick caught the look as he stopped even with him.

"What?"

Daryl shrugged, tucking the rag back into his pocket, then bringing his hand around to fish in the other for his pack of smokes. "Nuthin'." Flicking open his lighter with a quiet click, he lit up, exhaling a ghostly blue plume. "What's on yer mind?"

Rick settled his weight back on one foot, one hand comfortably resting at his narrow hip while the other lingered near his pistol, more so out of habit than anything else.

"I reckon you probably got a good idea."

"Mm," Daryl pinched the cigarette between two fingers. "The Honeycutt woman." He looked down at the ground for a second, then flicked his eyes back up, his head canting as he breathed out another thin stream of smoke. "You gonna let 'em stay?"

"I'm seriously considerin' it," the other man answered, shuffling his boot against the grass. He looked past Daryl towards the fields. "Could always use a couple more guns, few more eyes on watch."

Daryl took a deep drag, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Them kids she's got are pretty close to Carl in age."

Rick rubbed at his jaw, nodding. "Yeah, they are. Might do him some good to have a couple other kids around. Hell," he said with a dry laugh. "Might do me some good too. Remind me that he ain't quite the adult he acts like just yet."

Daryl hummed under his breath, letting his cigarette dangle from the corner of his lips as he said, "So what's the problem?"

Rick sobered. "She's got medical trainin', and ex-military. That's a pretty useful set of hands there." He jerked his head towards the barn. "Only downside I see is that we don't know her. But we didn't know Ty and Sasha neither, and they turned out alright. Abraham's done right by us so far."

"Ain't like we killin' 'em, or ourselves, if we turn 'em loose," Daryl pointed out, hooking his thumb in one of his empty belt loops. "They've been out there on their own this long. Done pretty good, seems like."

"Yeah, but we could use their horses, and any of the supplies they're carrying."

Daryl folded his arms across his chest, lifting one hand to flick the butt of his cigarette onto the ground, grinding it with the heel of his boot.

"Could use that trainin' ya mentioned too. She might not be no doctor, but she's a sight more able to tend to any injured or sick we get. And you and I both know that's pretty damned likely."

Rick sighed heavily. "True enough." He rubbed the back of his neck, eyeing his friend closely before adding, "You want them to stay?"

Daryl didn't have to really consider the question, lifting both shoulders carelessly again. "Don't much matter t'me one way or the other. Ain't gonna lose no sleep over it, whatever ya decide t'do."

And that was the truth. None of them could really afford it.

Rick let out another breath, shifting his weight again. "Reckon I'll talk it over with her, see how it plays out. Run with 'em for a while."

Daryl inclined his head and crouched down to start on the deer again. "Sounds like a plan."

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><p>Later that evening, Laura scraped the last bit of baked beans off her plate. It wasn't the most delicious meal she'd ever had, but it was hot and that was something to appreciate.<p>

She sat cross-legged between two other women, Jacob balanced on her thigh; a young blonde girl with the biggest doe eyes of blue she'd ever seen, and another woman with kinky curly hair and a caramel complexion. They chatted quietly next to the small camp fire Rick and another man, Tyreese, she thought. Matt and the other kids had hunkered down nearby with their own plates, talking silently amongst themselves with their hands. Every now and then Laura's eyes would drift towards them, a habit that she had no intention of breaking, checking them over. To her consolation, they seemed at ease, for the most part. Matt would glance around suspiciously on occasion.

He wasn't happy about staying the night. He might not have said as much, but she'd caught the glare he'd sent Daryl's way when they'd unsaddled the horses. She'd expected him to be mistrustful. She'd taught him to be. But the naked hostility she saw in his eyes every time he looked at the older man was unsettling. She was going to have to speak with him about it, and with all of them about staying with this group permanent-like, if that worked out. That could wait, at least until the morning.

The young woman's soft voice in her ear pulled her from her thoughts. "Are they yours?"

Laura shook her head with a small smile. Like she'd told Daryl, it was a question that never failed to pop up.

"Beth, right?" The little blonde nodded. She gestured to Matt. "That's my older brother's eldest, and the boy and girl sitting next to him are his brother and sister." Her eyes fell to the baby bouncing on her lap. "And this little chunky monkey is Jacob, my younger brother's son."

The baby burbled up at her, making her smile softly.

The other woman, Sasha, looked at the kids and said with a quiet smile, "They might as well be yours." She turned to Laura. "You've kept them alive. Kept them safe. That's more than can be said for a lot of people."

Her features were fixed in an expression of pain that Laura had come to know all too well. She didn't know who, or when, or how, but she understood that look of loss. Every person left alive probably did. And there weren't words that existed to ease or comfort the source of it.

Not knowing exactly how to respond, Laura only nodded, and then changed the subject.

"Have y'all been travelin' together long?"

Beth inclined her head, setting her plate aside and wrapping her thin arms around her knees.

"Most of us have been together over a year. Tyreese and Sasha here have been with us a bit less than that."

As they made small talk, Carl watched the siblings signal back and forth to one another curiously. He stood and brushed off the back of his jeans, bending down to grab his plate and place it on the post beside him. He'd pick it back up when he went down to the stream to wash up. They'd lucked out, finding intact cutlery and dishes. It was a nice change from chowing down out of a can. Hadn't had that since they'd fled the prison.

Carl grimaced and pushed thoughts of their old home away. It just hurt. Instead, he focused on the new kids, watching their hand gestures with open interest. The younger boy caught his gaze and with a grin, beckoned him over. Pushing the brim of his hat back with the tip of his thumb, Carl flopped down beside him with a nod.

"Hey."

"Hey," the boy greeted him, still grinning as he stuck his hand out. "My name's Brandon."

"Carl," he replied, shaking it firmly. Then he tipped his head towards the other boy, who stared at him sullenly.

Brandon poked him and his scowl deepened. Shaking his head, Brandon jerked his thumb at him. "This is my brother, Matt." Then he touched his finger to his cheek and spun it in a small circle, his eyes focused on the girl across from them. "And that's Amie."

She made a quiet, giggling sound and nodded to Carl, her round cheeks puffing out with her laugh as he smiled easily at her. Suddenly she held her hands up and made a series of rapid gestures, too quick for his eyes to catch. Uncertain if they were directed at hom or not, he looked at Brandon.

"She wants to know if there are any other kids here," the younger boy supplied helpfully.

Carl shook his head. "Just my baby sister, Judith."

Brandon gestured to Amie as Carl spoke and she nodded sadly. Then he tilted his head at Carl, his eyes falling to the pistol at his hip.

"Ya get to shoot much?"

"Not really. Every once and a while I have to," Carl replied, shifting.

"Do ya like using a pistol?"

"I guess so."

Brandon nodded, leaning back on his elbows comfortably. "I like a rifle better. Aunt Laura says it's easier to shoot anyways, 'cause it's easier to control the recoil."

Carl pursed his lips. "Makes sense. Dad gave me this, so I use it the most."

Matt abruptly spoke up, his eyes narrowed. "Yer dad the leader?"

"Yeah, he is," Carl said firmly, tensing.

Matt folded his arms, looking Carl up and down with a smirk. "I reckon that makes ya think yer somethin' special."

Carl started to retort heatedly, but Brandon's quiet voice cut him off. "Stop it, Matt."

Matt looked down at his younger brother with a frown. "What?"

Brandon was nonplused by the glare, his features set in a neutral expression. "Quit tryin' t'pick a fight. If yer pissed, go talk to Aunt Laura. She's the one yer really mad at."

With a low sound, Matt jerked to his feet and stalked off towards the fence posts at the edge of the yard. Brandon sighed and pushed his dark, shaggy red hair out of his eyes. "Don't pay him any attention, if ya can help it. He's just sore 'cause he don't know any of ya."

Carl relaxed a little.

"I get that," he said.

Amie watched her oldest brother as he threw his arms on top of a post and leaned forward against it, bringing one of her pigtails close to her mouth and sucking on the end of it. Hesitantly, she lifted her hand, her thumb and pinky finger extended as she made a swiping motion from cheek to cheek. Carl thought it might have been a question, as Brandon responded with a slow shake of his head and a shrug.

Brandon eyed him as he looked between them quietly. "Amie's deaf, so we usually use sign language to talk."

"I wasn't gonna ask," Carl protested, making the younger boy chuckle.

"Eh, it's something that's gonna come up eventually," he said, shrugging again. His smile became a little proud as he beamed at his sister. "She's learning how to lip read, for when we come across strangers that can't talk to her like we can. Gettin' pretty damn good at it too."

Carl nodded, the fingers of his right hand wrapping around his left wrist as he looped his arms around his knees. "Seems useful, though, talkin' like that."

"Can be," Brandon admitted. "Keeps the dead off us most of the time. Hard t'track what ya can't hear."

"That what you call 'em?" Carl asked. "Just dead?"

The other boy folded his arms beneath his head, lying fully back against the grass. "Got another word for 'em?"

"We call 'em walkers."

Brandon hummed under his breath. "Reckon that makes sense."

Laura eased up, swinging Jacob around to her hip and making him squeal. His fingers wound around her thick braid as it tumbled past her shoulder as she scooped up her plate. Beth also rose, holding out her hand.

"I can take that for you."

Laura smiled slightly, shifting around so that the hip Jacob occupied jutted towards the smaller woman.

"Tell ya what. If ya don't mind watchin' him for a bit, I can wash them for ya. Figure if y'all can share with us, least I can do is clean up."

"Oh, you don't have to do that," Beth objected, but Laura insisted, handing the baby over.

"Go on, you've been givin' him the googoo eyes since ya saw him. Can't blame ya neither. Little man's a heartbreaker," she teased gently. Like his daddy was, she thought to herself.

"I'll keep ya company then," Beth offered, to which Laura nodded.

"Suit yerself."

Plucking up a basket that squatted nearby, and a rag, Laura quickly went around the small camp. When it was full, she strode between the fence posts and crouched down next to the water, setting the basket beside her. Laura glanced up, amusement quirking her lips. The boy was enamored, staring up into the sweet-faced blonde's eyes adoringly. Seemed like the feeling was mutual. Beth stood close by, bouncing Jacob and cooing at him.

Flicking her eyes across the stream, scanning the fields for any sign of movement, she dipped the first plate into the icy water. They were fortunate it ran so close to the barn. Any further away and it would have been too risky to approach it until daylight.

"Daryl give you a lot of crap about sewing him up?" Beth asked, curling her legs under her and plopping the baby in her lap.

"Didn't really say much," Laura replied with a shrug. "But I got the impression that ain't so unusual."

Beth nodded, her fingers gently tangling with Jacob's. "It ain't. Times I think he doesn't open his mouth unless it's to make an ass of himself."

Laura snorted at her deadpan tone. "I can believe that. Soon as I finished them stitches, he was hoppin' up and tryin' t'walk around like nuthin' happened."

Beth was quiet for a bit as Laura rinsed off the plates, swirling the coarse rag over their surface and glancing up every couple of minutes.

"You know, we don't really take to strangers anymore. Ain't had a good reason to," she said, causing the other woman to pause and look over at her, mutely listening. But Beth seemed to find the right words hard to say, her eyes downcast. Finally, she glanced up. "I'm not sayin' y'all are gonna be any different. I don't think we know you well enough for me to say that. But...if Daryl vouches for you, that carries a lot of weight with me...with us."

"He told ya that he'd asked us to join ya?" Laura asked dubiously.

"No. But I thought he might have. Don't know any other reason why he'd have brought y'all here."

Laura considered her for a long moment, then nodded.

"It's on the table, so t'speak. Though from what I understand, it ain't up t'him."

Jacob fussed a bit as Beth rearranged him in her lap, reaching up to tug on a wisp of blonde hair that had escaped her ponytail.

"It's not," she said, gently taking her hair back and tickling him. "But like I said, if he thinks y'all are alright, it'll make a difference."

Laura simply nodded, and refocused her attention on the rest of the dishes. Their conversation shifted as she worked, moving onto other topics. She found that she rather liked Beth. Barely out of her teens, she was soft-spoken, but direct. She said what she thought, which was often quite astute. She was more perceptive than some perhaps realized, and deeply scarred by the world around them. Even so, she had a bright enthusiasm for life and music that she was more than happy to share.

Eventually, Laura's mind wandered, to the man that had brought them here. She glanced back towards the barn, near the far side where she could just make out a dark figure crouched down. He was probably still dressing the deer. And testing the give of those stitches, she thought, her lips pressing together.

Hauling up the basket to her hip, she held out a hand to Beth and helped her up. Together, they walked back inside the fence, where Beth set Jacob down on a blanket with Judith. Instantly, the little girl was crawling towards him, her gaze fixed on his wispy red curls. Her chubby hands reached out towards them and Jacob giggled, his own small fingers wrapping around hers and tugging.

Beth's smile was amused. "I think yer right about him bein' a little heartbreaker."

Laura's lips quirked up as she nodded, setting the basket of clean dishes down on the hard packed earth.

"I know it."

She excused herself, catching Brandon's eye as she strode past the fire and signed for him to watch Jacob across the way. The boy nodded, then resumed talking to Carl, his hands as busy as his mouth as he kept Amie in the conversation. Laura let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding, pleased and relieved that the kids were bonding with members of Rick's group. She hadn't given it much consideration before, hadn't really had the time, but it was probably more of a good thing to have run into Daryl than she'd initially thought. They _needed _other people, and not just socially.

Her gaze fell on her eldest nephew as she walked, his mouth fixed in a tight line as he leaned against a crooked post, his eyes fixed on the darkness stretching out beyond the barnyard. Some of them needed it more than others.

She rounded the barn, her hands sliding into the ragged back pockets of her jeans. The scent was the first thing she noticed, metallic and musky all at once. The grass was slick under her in some places, and she picked her way around a small pile of innards that had been tossed over the carcass. Another handful went sailing right at her, and she sidestepped so that it landed neatly on the other bloody parts.

Idly, she poked the deer's flank with the toe of her boot, canting her head. Daryl ignored her, his head bent as he worked his knife carefully down the belly.

"Want a light?" He paused, his hands dropping to hang between his thighs as he gave her a sidelong look.

"Why?" he asked bluntly, the word coming out more like a dare than an actual question.

Laura folded her arms loosely across her stomach. "You've made about as much progress as a bull humpin' a fence post. So either that leg is botherin' ya more than yer willing to admit and slowin' ya down, or the lack of light is."

He made a low noise that sounded nearly like a growl and turned away from her, the knife tearing into the carcass viciously. She glanced over the the tree that grew close to the barn, a large pecan, it's leaves casting slithering shadows.

"Wouldn't it have been easier to hang him up from there?" She ticked her chin towards it.

"Naw."

She waited a beat, watching him pull out a string of foul smelling intestines and toss them over his shoulder.

"Ya sure? Th'blood would drain quicker that way."

The muscle in his jaw tightened before he responded gruffly, "Gonna hang him up after I get done."

Laura stared down at his bent back, her eyes tracing the ragged edges of the wings sewn to his vest and feeling her irritation spike. Pig-headed jackass.

"Ya mean you'll do it when ya figure out how t'either lift him without bustin' them stitches or how t'sew 'em back up without anyone noticin'."

He suddenly pushed up and whirled on her, his lips pulling back in a snarl as he stepped towards her, invading her personal space.

"What do ya want from me, woman?"

"To show some damned sense," she shot back hotly, refusing to back up. If he thought he was scary after what she'd been through in Basic, he was in for it. She unfolded her arms to point down at his leg. "I didn't put ya back together for ya t'be an idiot and rip 'em out the first chance ya got."

"I ain't never had no keeper, Red," he snapped, jabbing his finger at her shoulder. "And I sure as hell don't need one now."

"Oh, don't be so melodramatic, for Christ's sake." She took a step back to lean down and grab the deer by its hind feet. "Or so damned self-centered. It ain't _you _I'm worried about no-ways."

He looked surprised for all of about a second, then he grabbed her arm. Not hard, but tight enough that she was stopped short. "The hell ya doin'?"

She shrugged him off and started to drag the buck towards the tree. "What ya should've asked somebody t'do," she said waspishly, leaning over to pluck up the length of rope coiled at the pecan's roots.

Making a quick, proficient knot, she looped one end of the rope around the carcass's back legs, then tossed the other end over a lower, thick-looking branch. She hopped up to grab the rope higher along its length and, using all of her weight, heaved. The back half of the deer rose unsteadily into the air. With her feet firmly back on flat soil, she turned and yanked, digging in her heels as she pulled. Jerkily, the buck rose, and when his head finally cleared the ground, Laura wound the rope about the trunk. The coppery scent of blood grew stronger, gravity drawing it down and out of the body.

Satisfied that her knots would hold, Laura turned to glare back at Daryl, who hadn't moved. She folded her arms again.

"Maybe now ya can get this poor bastard cleaned well enough to start eatin' him before the meat spoils?"

"Tch," was all he said, limping towards her and the deer with a dubious look.

He rubbed a hand across his chin as he peered up at the suspended carcass, then without a word, he plunged the blade of his knife back into its gullet. Laura leaned her shoulder against the tree trunk, bark scraping at the material of her t-shirt. The air was nippier this far from the camp fire, but she didn't really mind. Hell, compared to the nights she'd spent in the Middle East, this was downright balmy.

She eyed Daryl as he flung another fistful of guts to the ground. He was still favoring his uninjured leg, the other bent slightly at the knee, probably to ease some of the uncomfortable pulling on his stitches. He'd likely aggravated them crouching down so long. She'd need to take a look at them when he finished up.

"Just outta curiosity, why'd ya start with the insides?" she asked, as if the tick she'd seen start under his eye didn't exist. "Always thought ya skinned 'em first."

He stopped again, twisting around to glower at her.

"Are you going to stand there and jaw all night?"

She shrugged. "Ain't got nuthin' better t'do."

"Don't need t'talk t'Rick or somethin'?" he muttered, his arm disappearing into the buck's chest cavity.

She let her gaze drift lazily back towards the camp fire. They did need to talk, but she didn't see much point in pushing the issue. Better to wait for him to come to her, be willing to work out an arrangement, then for her to try and bull her way in.

"He'll talk when he's good and ready," She said out loud. Her lips tilted up crookedly as her eyes slid back to him. "Seems to have a better grasp on the meaning of 'patience' than present company."

"Never asked ya for yer opinion," he said with a grunt, jerking his knife free.

"Never learned the trick of keepin' it t'myself," she admitted wryly.

"That ain't patient."

Jesus, he was easy to wind up.

"I did include myself in that present company."

"Tch." That one sound spoke volumes about the difference between how funny he thought that she thought she was, and just how funny he actually found her.

Didn't bother her in the slightest.

"So what are ya gonna do with the hide?" she asked, tucking her hands under her arms.

"Nuthin'." He glanced at her from the corner of his eye as he reached up to slice the blade tip through the thin, furry skin just above the back hooves. "Unless you know how t'tan it right."

Laura shook her head, setting her braid to swaying gently at her back. "Never learned that neither."

He grunted again, expertly flicking the knife under the deer's skin so that he could start peeling it away from the muscle. She watched him silently, letting her mind wander again. She'd been honest with him. Other than making sure he didn't do something stupid to either tear out her carefully sewn handiwork or rip open something somewhere else, she really had no reason to be hanging around, but she had nothing better to do.

And she was curious.

She hadn't gotten much out of him, but then, she hadn't exactly been all that talkative either. Everyone always wanted to know about her hand, so she'd gotten into the habit of supplying the answer, usually before they even asked. Kinda like she did about the kids, if and when they ran into strangers. Both were pretty natural questions, and people were nosy by nature. Most of 'em, anyway. This guy, though...he'd learned early to mind his own business, she thought. More than likely, he'd figured out a long time ago that curiosity was something that got you in more trouble than it was worth.

She'd learned that too, but it hadn't really sunk in all that well.

Hence, here she was, leaning against a tree with probably the most unfriendly fool this side of the mountains.

In neat, clean strokes, Daryl tugged down the deer's grey hide in large swaths, slicing up along the abdominal muscles. It came loose in large, squares, like a grisly pattern of patchwork. He spun the carcass around and repeated the process. His dark hair clung in damp strings to his forehead, and despite the consistent drop in temperature as the night deepened around them, beads of sweat rolled down his temples. The color in his face drained as she watched, the strain evident in his features. He held himself stiffly up, and from the glint in his eyes, she felt there was likely something deeper bothering him than just his injury.

But Laura kept quiet. It wasn't her business, and it sure as hell wouldn't do her any good to offer to finish the job, or chastise him. She'd said her peace. As long as he kept off that leg, and actually slept for a few hours, he'd recover. He might be sore as all hell in the morning, but that'd hopefully teach him the hard way about pushing himself. Somehow, she doubted it, though.

A moan echoed from the field behind them, and Laura stiffened. Pushing up from the tree, she eased her knife from its sheath at her belt. Daryl must have heard it too, their eyes meeting briefly before his slid past her to peer towards the dark grass that stretched beyond the barn. Laura narrowed her own gaze in the same direction. Wordlessly, she turned back to see him limping towards the barn and then hefting up his crossbow from where he'd set it.

Laura tapped the knife's edge against her thigh, the fingers of her left hand wrapping tightly around its hilt. Her back brushing against rough bark, she inched around the tree, listening intently. There was a faint scraping sound close by, which she took to be Daryl. Crickets chirped noisily as the wind rustled through the long blades of grass, and sent what little leaves remained in the branches above her head shuddering.

A guttural snarl sliced through the air, making Laura whip her head around, towards the stream that cut through the field across from them. She felt a presence near her shoulder and she arched her neck to look up. Daryl's eyes flicked down to hers briefly as he jerked his head in the direction the sound had come from.

"See anythin'?" he asked in a low voice.

"No." She turned to stare back across the field. "Don't hear nuthin' else either."

"C'mon," he said, his hand reaching out to give her a light push against her upper back. She followed the nonverbal cue, slipping ahead of him with her back curled forward as she hunched down, reflexively keeping as low as possible.

Quietly, she headed for the water, crossing the stream with barely more than the soft crunch of small stones. Scampering up the other bank, she dropped to her belly in the weeds and listened again. Daryl had been close behind, lowering himself down beside her as he propped on his elbows, his crossbow drawn. His leg might be in better shape than she'd thought.

One glance at his face, though, told her she was wrong.

He was sweating, and even in the dim moonlight, she could see that his color was not good. A fine tremble traced the muscle of his bicep, so slight she'd have missed it if she hadn't been looking for it.

Not the time.

The end of her braid tickled her nose as she pushed herself closer to the ground and started to inch her way forward. The snarling was closer, more pronounced, and now it seemed that whatever was lurking out there wasn't alone. Every growl was punctuated by another reverberating through the grass.

Silently, Laura reached out and touched a hand to Daryl's arm. She saw him glance at her out of the corner of her eye. Putting a finger to her lips, she scooted just a little more forward and slowly eased herself up until she was on all fours.

Just over the tips of wild rye, she made out several shambling shapes. At least six, maybe more.

She shoved her knife between her teeth as she flopped back down, holding up her fingers to indicate the number she'd seen before making a sweeping motion with her hand. They were scattered ahead of them, probably no more than fifty yards away. It wasn't that many, really, but there was no guarantee that there weren't more wandering about.

Daryl nodded and flashed three fingers towards her, then jerked his thumb upwards. Her knife still firmly clenched between her teeth, she dipped her head shortly and braced her hands flat on the ground. She sucked in a deep breath, counting her heartbeats.

One.

Two.

Three!

Leaping to her feet, she snatched at her knife with her good hand and ran straight for the nearest shape. The dead man reached for her with bloated, peeling hands, making her twist awkwardly to avoid them. Fighting down the need to gag at the god-awful stench rolling off him, Laura pinched what remaining hair he had that she could grab between her thumb and forefinger and yanked him to her, sinking her weapon deep into his temple. He crumbled and she followed him down, yanking out the blade and spinning on her heel.

A dull thud reached her ears as she spotted Daryl a few meters away, another dead man tumbling forward with a bolt sticking through his eye socket. A wet-sounding gurgle echoed behind her, and she whirled back around, the long dark length of her braid whipping out. With barely more than a cursory flicker of her eyes over the walking corpse, she drove the knife into the too soft flesh of its skull before planting her boot firmly in its chest and kicking as hard as she could to pull the blade free.

Another one grabbed her on the shoulder just as it slid out, and with a snarl, toppled them both into the thick weeds. It landed on top of her, trapping her left arm, and her knife, beneath its wriggling torso, its rotting teeth snapping at her neck.

"Shit!" She balled up her right hand and slammed her knuckles into its face.

The corpse growled at her mindlessly, heedless while she struggled under its revolting girth. Scrambling to get out from under it, Laura shoved her palm against the creature's neck, pushing against it as she worked her other arm free. She undulated her hips, building a slight momentum, and heaved, tossing the thing off her. Laura rolled with it, straddling its belly and driving her knife through its eye with a sickening squelch. Snatching it back, she sat back on her haunches and swiveled her head back and forth, searching for anything that moved. Adrenaline was pumping through her bloodstream like a drug, making her breath shorten to harsh pants and her pulse thrum.

There was one walker still standing, swaying unsteadily as it lurched towards her, apparently lured by her struggle with the corpse still under her. But as she pushed up to finish it, a bolt shot past her shoulder, nailing the unlucky wretch squarely in the center of its forehead.

Laura turned to look behind her in time to see Daryl lowering his crossbow as the walker dropped. They stared at one another for a long moment.

Then she jerked her thumb over her shoulder with a slow-spreading grin as she moved to walk past him.

"I bet ya gotta have the last word too."

Her grin turned into a small, private smirk when she heard him mutter, "Tch. Do not."


	4. Chapter 4

_****A/N:****_**** Thank you guys so much for the encouraging reviews, favs, and follows! It's so exciting to see people enjoying reading this story as much as I'm enjoying writing it! Please keep them coming! :)****

****Disclaimer: I own nothing, although I certainly wish that I did. With the exceptions of my original characters, everything else belongs to AMC. Lucky bastards…****

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><p>Beth tucked a stray blonde strand back behind her ear as she used a slender knife to slice one of the large chunks of venison Daryl had cut from the deer carcass last night. The scent of the cooking fire was making her stomach roil unpleasantly. Food had no appeal to her these days. The gnawing she felt in her stomach had little to do with hunger, and it was largely successful in dampening her appetite. Meat seemed to be especially hard for her to force down, even in small nibbles. The taste of blood seemed to linger in her mouth, tainting anything she actually managed to put past her lips. She'd taken to sliding her food around on her plate, or tearing hunks and sharing them with others to cover how little she was eating.<p>

She reached up and swiped the back of her forearm across her face, the heat from the fire causing sweat to prickle uncomfortably over her scalp and down her temples. No one ever questioned her, or even seemed to notice, for that matter, which was something of a relief. She didn't know how she'd handle it. It was bad enough trying to keep still and not squirm under Daryl's suspicious looks. He probably knew, better than anyone, what was going on with her, but either out of respect for her privacy or something else entirely, he kept his thoughts to himself. The blade slid cleanly through the meat, thunking dully against the wooden stump she was using as a cutting board in a hollow rhythm. How many times had she ducked away from him, fighting the almost overwhelming urge to just up and ask him what he was thinking?

And that was a rabbit hole, she thought wryly, taking several strips and plopping them into the bubbling water. Hot droplets from the pot of oatmeal she was heating next to the stew splashed on her arm and she cursed softly under her breath, wiping them away with a bloody thumb, leaving a dark smear across her pale skin. Beth stilled, her hand frozen on her arm as her eyes becoming a little unfocused. The crackling of the fire pit, the sharp thunk of the axe from across the yard where Carl was splitting wood, the chill wind that brushed over her, leaving a trail of goosebumps, all of that faded from her awareness as she stared down, unblinking.

_Someone was screaming._

_The handle of the scissors was hot and slick in her fingers as she jerked it out of Dawn's chest, her other hand instinctively having shot down to hold the other woman's wrist, keeping her service pistol pinned in her hip holster. Someone was screaming. As she plunged the pair down again, her hand slipped, her palm slicing open against the flesh- heated metal. Her lungs were burning. The cop crumbled to the floor, her eyes wide and her breath hissing in a strangled gasp. There was a deafening bang. Her ears were ringing. Her lungs were burning. She tasted copper on her lips. Why wasn't the screaming stopping?_

_There was a hand on her shoulder, and she was suddenly engulfed in a pair of muscled arms, her nose buried in black leather. There was a voice, low and rough in her ear, talking, soothing, but she couldn't make out the words beyond the siren-like screech still reverberating in her head. Her throat felt so raw, and there was something hot scalding her cheeks. Then her feet were dragging against squeaky linoleum, and the idle thought occurred to her that she'd just mopped that floor not even two hours ago. Dawn would be so angry when she saw the new scuff marks. Or she would have been. She was suddenly whirled around, and she cried out as blinding sunlight filled her vision. A rough hand covered her mouth, and she found it odd that it was vibrating._

_Oh._

_She was the one screaming._

_The sound died in her throat as she blinked open her eyes slowly. Gunshots were going off in every direction as she finally registered the guttural moans that were growing steadily louder. She felt her heart stutter._

_Oh God._

She nearly jumped out of her skin when fingers gently fluttered against her elbow. Spinning around, heedless of the sharp knife still clutched in her hand, Beth clasped a hand to her chest when she saw Carl's wide hazel eyes, one arm flying out akimbo with his palm facing her while the other automatically went to the top of his hat.

"Jesus, Beth!"

She immediately dropped the knife onto the stump. "I'm so sorry, Carl!" Her heart was in her throat, fluttering like a trapped bird, and she breathed out a weak laugh. "I-I reckon I was thinkin' too hard and...God, ya just scared the crap out of me."

He tilted his head at her, and she was acutely aware of just how tall he'd gotten. Another few months and he'd likely tower over her. The tips of his bangs curled up to brush his nose every time he moved, causing to always be reaching up and rubbing at it. Like he was doing now, his arms having lowered and he was also eyeing her quizzically. She blinked, lost, then realized he must have said something to her.

"I'm sorry, what?"

The corner of his lips twitched. "I asked if you were alright."

Was it strange that her stomach knotted up? Ignoring the uncomfortable sensation, she nodded, forcing a small smile, her hand brushing away the drying blood on her arm.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, just tired, I guess."

There was a tense moment as he looked at her, his eyes sweeping up and down her body assessively, and Beth had to fight the urge to cross her arms protectively over her thin torso. Much like Daryl, however, if he thought she wasn't being truthful, it didn't show in his expression. He simply dipped his head towards her, one hand slipping into his back pocket as the other settled on the butt of the pistol at his hip.

"I think we all are. It's nice to have someplace we can hole up for a bit and take a breather," he replied quietly, his gaze shifting towards the barn.

Beth's eyes lowered, chewing on her bottom lip as she turned back to the meat she had been preparing.

"Yeah," she agreed softly, working the knife through the lean, red hunk of venison. "It has been nice."

But that doesn't last.

She didn't have to look up at him to know that Carl knew that too. She could feel the weight of his eyes on her, warm and silently questioning on her back. Her chest tightened, constricting until she could barely breath. Yet at the same time, she felt numb; hard and hollow like blown glass. The emotions bubbled beneath the surface, a hot churning that never seemed to entirely settle in her belly, causing a constant, miserable needling across her skin. Probably part of her appetite problem too.

A clang from the pot distracted her from her musing, and she glanced over to see one of the Honeycutt boys, Brandon, swirling the large ladle. He pulled it up and blew over it, gingerly tipping its edge close to his mouth and taking a sip. Licking his lips, he hummed appreciatively and shot her a friendly grin.

"That's awesome! You're a good cook!"

"T-thank you," Beth replied softly, a bit startled at how energetically he spoke.

Bouncing back on his heels, he set the ladle back down and came around the pot towards her, making her jump when he set his hands down on her shoulders familiarly, leaning over to peer at the meat she had been cutting. He was so tall, just about the same height as Carl. But his dark red hair was more wooly-looking, thick and wildly waving in crazy directions. The strands tickled her cheek as he hunched over her shoulder, startling her and she jerked away slightly. He didn't seem to notice, his eyes fixed on the large portion of venison still under her hand.

"You gonna put all that in there? With them onions I saw too?"

"That's the plan, yeah," she replied, glancing at Carl, who seemed to have no intentions of hiding his grin.

The warm, calloused hands on her shoulders squeezed lightly as Brandon bounced again, like an excited kid.

"Ya serious? That's gonna be one helluva good stew when yer done then!"

His enthusiasm was infectious, and Beth felt a genuine smile start to form on her lips, a small ball of pleasure unfolding in her chest.

"I hope so."

Brandon's smile was as confident as his voice, dark blue eyes twinkling. "I know so! I already tasted it." He nodded down to the stump. "Do ya want some help?"

Beth shook her head slowly and resumed her slicing. "Nah, but thanks." She looked up at him. "But you can run up to the barn and tell Daryl to hurry up for me. Otherwise, he's not going to get any breakfast."

When he darted off, looking all the world like an animated scarecrow with his beanpole arms pumping as hard as his legs, she felt the first real laugh in ages tumble over her tongue.

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><p>The sunlight filtering through the wide cracks in the barn's walls was what woke him. Groaning quietly, Daryl heaved himself upright from the thin blanket that had served as his bedroll. He scrubbed a hand down his face roughly. Felt like he'd just laid down not even fifteen minutes ago. Deer blood darkly stained his ripped jeans and tattered button down shirt, but he'd uncaringly fallen onto his pallet and was out almost before he'd curled his arms under his head to make a pillow. Least he'd been able to finish cutting the meat and bury the inedible parts before his leg had given out on him.<p>

With a grimace, he got to his feet. Searing pain lanced through his leg as he gingerly put his full weight on it.

"Son of a _bitch_," he swore, reaching down and instinctively clamping a hand over the wound.

It was hot to the touch. Swearing again, he flopped back down onto the pallet, drawing back his pants leg to get a better look. He could hear Merle's mocking laugh echoing in his head. The skin around the thread was puffy and an angry red. He'd pushed his luck too far yesterday. Or worse, he'd gotten it infected.

A quiet voice came from behind him. "Ya should let Aunt Laura take a look at that again."

He twisted around to see the younger Honeycutt boy, Brandon, squatting in the barn's large upper doorway, his knees bent high and outward like an overgrown frog. A thick rope was gripped between both hands at his chest and he leaned towards it a bit for balance. A rifle was slung across his back. His eyes gleamed as he nodded towards Daryl.

"She ain't got th'gentlest hands, but lettin' that fester is gonna hurt a helluva lot more."

"Heh, maybe," Daryl replied gruffly, looking the boy over before ticking his chin towards the gun barrel sticking above his shoulder. "You on watch or somethin'?"

"Was." Brandon propped his chin on the back of his hand where it wrapped around the rope, making his head tilt oddly. Then he grinned. "But that pretty girl, Beth, asked me t'find ya so's ya can get some breakfast 'fore the rest of 'em eat it all."

Shit, it was later than he thought. Kid had a point about his leg though. Didn't like it none, but he couldn't rightly argue with it without sounding like a jackass.

Not that it'd ever stopped him before.

"Tell her t'save me a bowl," he said, pushing back up.

Brandon snorted, causing Daryl to shoot him a quick, hard look.

"What?"

The boy shrugged. "Nuthin', I just figured ya were gonna say that." Then he sobered, pinning Daryl with a shrewd glance. "Seriously, though...get her t'take a look. Ain't gonna do nobody no good for ya t'be laid up just 'cause ya feel like bein' mule-headed. Puts more on the rest of us."

Without a further word, he swung around and clambered down the outside of the barn. Daryl watched him disappear, brows furrowed. Boy had a pair, he'd give him that, even if he was just telling him what Daryl already knew.

Grumbling a little, he eased down the ladder that led to the floor of the barn, the scent of ancient straw and leather still heavy in the air. His boots thunked heavily against the dirt floor, the vibration shooting up his leg and making him hiss in a breath. Favoring his right, he turned, and came eye to eye with the very person he was hoping to avoid.

Laura was leaning against one of the empty stalls, her arms crossed loosely as she stared at him with an indifferent expression. She was wearing a thick, red and black plaid shirt, the buttons left open to reveal a dark blue t-shirt underneath. She had on a pair of dark khakis that were way too big on her, a large portion of each leg stuffed in the tops of her clunky black boots.

"You followin' me around or somethin'?" he groused with a scowl.

Her eyes flickered down to where he was holding his left foot just above the ground, and her brows rose a fraction.

"Don't suppose you'll be willin' t'let me have a gander at that leg again," she commented dryly, ignoring his question as the toe of her boot balanced on the ground where she'd crossed her legs at the ankles.

"No," he answered curtly.

The way her eyes snapped up to his, narrowing slightly, made him think that she was a lot more pissed than she was letting on. He knew what she wanted to say, and she wasn't wrong to say it; but they needed to move on, if not tomorrow, then soon, and he didn't have the time or the patience to twiddle his thumbs while everyone else pulled their weight. He was more than prepared to argue her down about it too. He'd get plenty of rest astride Brom. Even he wasn't fool enough to believe he could keep up on foot.

To his surprise, however, she simply inclined her head slightly and straightened from her slouch against the thick wooden post she's made herself comfortable against. That was a complete one-eighty from her attitude last night. Hobbling, he crossed the barn to walk beside her as she strode out into the yard. Carl and the other kids were still eating, sipping at the edge of their bowls of steaming oatmeal. He cradled the bowl in one hand, while he experimented with gestures with the other, which seemed to amuse Amie to no end. The pig-tailed redhead giggled quietly as she reached out to correct the position of his fingers.

Beth stood near the fire pit, stirring the large pot occasionally as she scooped large helpings into tupperware containers they'd salvaged from somewhere. Daryl could see a small bowl set aside on a nearby stump, steam still curling up. He deviated from walking with Laura to move towards the blonde, gently nudging her shoulder with his as he passed her to pick up the hot oatmeal. She smiled up at him, the first genuine one he'd seen in a long while, and it made that knot in his chest loosen, just a little. The corner of his mouth quirked up at her in response. Maybe she was coming around.

As he contemplated the changes in the woman he'd grown to consider a friend, there was a tap at his shoulder. Juggling his bowl, he turned around to see the medic behind him, her long auburn braid swaying at her back. She held a dark brown bottle in her good hand and a small roll of gauze pinched between the thumb and forefinger that remained on her right.

"Here," she said blandly, setting the items down on the stump next to him. "Put some peroxide on it and at least try to take a seat every once in a while."

The question of why she wasn't pushing was on the tip of his tongue, but he held it back. Far be it for him to encourage nagging.

"Hmm, thanks," he muttered.

She nodded to him, her face expressionless. "Keep the bottle for now. If the stitches start to itch or feel inflamed, dab a little more on them. Should keep it clean until you get a new pair of britches."

He glanced down at the ragged pair of jeans. Yeah, he needed to just cut these up and start wearing the extra pair Michonne had scrounged up for him on the last run.

"Alright."

She dipped her head again, and without another word, strode off back towards the barn. She slowed down just long enough to cast her eyes over the kids still eating, her lips moving as though counting before she disappeared from sight into the darkened interior. Daryl watched her vanish with a frown, his breakfast cooling unnoticed between his hands. What was up with that woman? Yesterday he couldn't take a breath without her pestering him, and now she hardly seemed to care at all if the damned leg fell off.

"She's figured ya out," a soft voice spoke up near him, and he turned his head a little to look down into Beth's wide blue eyes.

"Tch," he scoffed, lifting the bowl and taking a long draught of the soupy oats. "Has she now?"

Beth's lips twitched. "Yep." He waited for her to continue, but she didn't elaborate, instead glancing towards the barn, linking her hands together behind her back. "I reckon we won't be movin' on for a few days yet. Rick made it sound that way earlier this morning. Probably gonna want some people for a run."

Daryl grunted, finishing off the oatmeal and hoping like hell it'd stick to his ribs for a while; weren't no telling when they'd get to eat again.

"I'll see what he wants done," he said, handing her the empty bowl. She started to walk off, but he caught her arm with one hand. "Hey." His eyes intently searching her face, but for what he wasn't sure. She stared back up at him questioningly. "I didn't get a chance t'say it before, but...it's good to have you back," he said, his lips quirking up a little again as he squeezed her bicep gently before turning on his heel. Leaning over just long enough to pick up the bottle and gauze, he moved off before it could get uncomfortable.

He hadn't ever been good with words, but that was probably the most straightforward he'd ever been. And it was the honest truth. He couldn't be happier that she'd hung on as long as she had, and that he and Rick'd been able to bring her back to the home they'd made among the others. What he couldn't say was how she had been a light in the dark for him, and just how much he wanted her to stop staring off into the distance with the guilt that was still lingering in her eyes. It was happening less often, and disappeared entirely whenever she was around Lil Asskicker. The baby had that effect on most people. And that smile this morning was a nice change, but he knew that it'd take more than a little time to heal that wound, for her to find the quiet that she'd brought him, after the loss of the prison.

But he didn't know what would help. So he kept his thoughts to himself, and silently walked back towards the barn. Finding a clear spot against the outside wall, he leaned back and propped his boot up on the rusting bar of an old plow. He twisted off the cap of the peroxide and poured a small amount onto the bunched up bit of gauze Laura had given him. The cold felt good despite the discomfort as he gingerly rubbed it over the stitches. When he pulled the gauze back, he could see small pinpoints of dark yellow. Muttering a curse, he balled the soft mesh in his fist before tossing it off into the grass. He reached into his back pocket for his lighter, leaving his boot braced up as he fumbled in another for his dwindling pack of cigarettes.

The smoke tasted good as he breathed it in, letting his head thunk back against the wood, his eyes closing briefly. When he opened them again, they scanned over the yard, searching out dark brown curling hair and a black denim jacket. With the cigarette dangling from his lips, he pushed off from the wall, lowering his leg and loping towards the far fence. Rick was bent near one of the posts, a rough burlap sack hanging between his fingers. As Daryl drew closer, he could see the other man swiping his fingers through the taller weeds, plucking up a plant here and there that he recognized as wild thyme.

"Figurin' on seasonin' somethin'?" he asked, when he was within earshot.

"Maybe," Rick murmured, his gaze focused on his hands. "Can't hurt to have a little more fresh food to take with us."

Darryl hummed under his breath as he inhaled on his cigarette, blowing out a thick puff of smoke. "Pullin' out soon then."

"Next couple of days. Let 'em rest s'long as they can." Rick glanced up. "Ain't gonna be much stoppin' till we find somewhere to settle in for the winter."

"Spent the last one roamin'," Darryl pointed out, flicking the ash of the end of the smoke.

"And hungry," Rick countered, pushing up and brushing off his knees. "Ain't doin' that again, not if we don't have to."

"Hmm," he hummed in agreement, cradling the smoking cigarette between two fingers. "Reckon I can put together some people for a run later this mornin'."

"That'd be good. Grab what we can while we got a chance. Y'all gonna see what's in Murphy?"

Daryl nodded. "Yeah. Closest thing to a town around here that we could see on the map. Ain't too far neither. If that Honeycutt girl ain't got a problem with it, I figure we can borrow them horses a hers and be in and back before sundown."

Rick's gaze flickered down to his leg. "You gonna be good t'go if shit hits the fan with that?"

Daryl shrugged, dropping the butt of his cigarette onto the ground and swiping his boot over it. "Yeah, ain't gon' be a problem."

They locked eyes for a beat before Rick nodded shortly. "Aright." He clasped Daryl's hand tightly with his own. "Stay safe out there."

He nodded. "Y'all too."

He found Laura near the other end of the barn, clearing out the long rotted clumps of hay that stubbornly clung to the dirt floor with a rusty hoe. She'd tucked her long auburn braid underneath the collar of her t-shirt to keep it out of the way. Using the blunt end to scrap beneath the more stubborn bits of straw, she methodically moved along the edges of the far left stall. No one had been staying in there, or in any of the others, preferring to mostly remain huddled up in the middle of the barn, in thick sleeping bags and blankets.

She straightened and turned at his approach.

"Hey," he said as he walked up to the stall opening, his fingers curled around the strap of his crossbow.

"Hey," she greeted him back, leaning her forearm on the end of the hoe's shaft. Her eyes flicked down, a slight smile curving her lips as she took in the new pair of jeans he was wearing. "Looks like it'll just be me, you, and your underwear the next time you get busted up. Unless yer lookin' for me t'cut them up too."

"Stop," he muttered, bracing his shoulder against the frame of the stall.

Laura chuckled wryly. When the sound faded, she sobered a little, idly tapping the end of her hoe in the straw. "Peroxide help?"

"A bit." He shifted, jerking his head towards the barn doors. Abruptly, he asked, "Mind if I borrow yer horses for the day? Puttin' together a run."

Laura set the hoe aside, reaching into her back pocket and pulling out a blue bandana to swipe over her face.

"I'm fine with it, if yer fine with me goin'."

He watched her as she coiled the dark cloth into a small strip and wound it around her forehead, tying the knot beneath the root of her braid. When her eyes met his, he shrugged.

"Fair enough. C'mon."

She moved to walk beside him, and he felt the muscle in his jaw clench at how she shortened her stride to match his slower pace. The pain wasn't as bad in his leg as it had been yesterday, and the peroxide had seemed to ease a lot of the discomfort, but he could still feel the inflammation when he'd changed into the newer pair of jeans. Every time he forced his leg to extend, the thread stretched and pulled uncomfortably. It was going to make things difficult, especially if they ran into trouble, but he didn't much like the idea of anyone else going in his place.

Well, it ain't like it'd make much of difference if ya were there or not, little brother, came Merle's slow, mocking drawl in the back of his mind. All of 'em's walker meat anyways. Just a matter a time. And you? Well, ya weren't much help when ya _could _walk straight. Shit, how many damned times did I hafta come in and save yer sorry ass? He could hear his brother's deep, rumbling chuckle. Ya weren't shit before, and ya sure as fuck ain't worth shit now.

"Yer gonna slow people down," she said, unknowingly giving voice to his thoughts.

He shot her a pointed glare, feeling distinctly like a dog with its hackles raised, and he didn't much care for the comparison, even in his own head. "Didn't slow y'all down none yesterday."

"Yeah, but all we were doin' was ridin'," she pointed out, stepping into the morning sunlight. "If yer thinkin' of pokin' around instead of just scopin' things out, ya know as well as I do that it only plays out one way. Sooner or later, we're gonna have t'get the hell outta Dodge."

She was right. Fuck if he liked to admit it, but she was right.

"Was plannin' on bein' the one t'keep a lookout, anyways. Make sure them horses a yers don't get a wild hair across their asses and bolt," he grumbled sourly, his eyes scanning over the yard.

She snorted, folding her arms over her chest as she paused next to him. "Not likely. They got more sense than the vast majority of people I've met."

"Hmm," he murmured noncommittally, spotting the person he wanted to talk to and heading in that direction.

Daryl didn't wait for her to follow him, and was less than surprised when he turned his head to see that she hadn't, heading for the posts where the animals were hitched. Adjusting the strap of his crossbow across his chest, he caught Tyreese as he was stacking wood against the side of the barn.

"Hey man."

Ty flashed a small smile. "Hey, Daryl."

Daryl tucked his hand into his back pocket and jerked his head in the direction of the horses. "Up for a run into town this mornin'?"

The big man dusted off his hands before bracing them at his belt. "Sure, just lemme grab my gear."

Daryl left him to it and started in the direction of the horses. Laura had just slung her saddle up onto Chief's back and was leaning over to fasten the thick leather straps under his broad belly. Adjusting his crossbow, Daryl let out a grunt as he leaned down and retrieved the darker blanket they'd used for Brom, slinging across the gelding's wide back. He smoothed it down, reaching out to pat the big horse's thick neck.

"Alright, boy," he said quietly, then hefted up the heavy saddle from the ground with a wince.

"Need a hand?" Laura asked from the other side of Brom, watching him carefully as he flung it over the blanket.

"Naw," he replied, shaking his head and blowing out a breath past his lips, stirring the lank hair that fell in his eyes. "I'm good."

He leaned down, fumbling a bit with the saddle belts and cursing under his breath when the buckle slipped from his fingers. A slender hand suddenly ducked under and silently offered it to him. He snatched it up with a barely suppressed growl of irritation, yanking the other strap through the metal square and snapping it tight. With a tug on the stirrup to make sure it wasn't going anywhere when he mounted up, he turned and straightened to see Tyreese striding easily towards them.

The large man stuck his hand out to Laura with a nod.

"Ty. Don't think we properly met last night."

"Laura," she said with a polite dip of her head. "Hope ya know how t'ride."

His smile was wan as his eyes drifted to the horses, the stiff set of his shoulders clearly indicating how uncomfortable he was. "Ain't no expert. Been on a couple horses, but that was years ago."

The corners of her mouth quirked up. "S'just like ridin' a bike." She ticked her chin towards the large bags he had draped over his shoulder. "I can tied them down for ya." Then she reached out and scratched the mare behind her ears. "Ya can ride Gina here. She's got a smooth gait. Doesn't startle easy either."

Ty nodded again, relief evident in his features. "Good to know. Thanks."

With another low sound, Daryl swung up into the saddle, gritting his teeth when his stitches caught against the denim of his jeans. He felt his irritation spike when the two of them looked up at him, then exchanged a glance, as if they shared a similar thought. Knowing what it was only made him more irritable, and he pointed a finger towards the yard.

"Don't ya think ya oughta let one of them kids a yers know where yer goin'?"

"I'd planned to," she told him as her left hand worked on strapping down the bags Ty handed her, the patient way she spoke making him scowl.

Turning her head, she lifted the two remaining fingers on her right to her lips and blew three sharp notes. Two auburn heads concurrently popped out of the upper barn door. Laura waved towards them and Daryl watched the boys disappear back inside. In under a minute, they were coming through the large double doors and trotting in their direction. She handed Gina's reins to Ty, who took them as the brothers approached.

Laura drew close to her nephews, her hands moving quickly. Daryl couldn't make heads or tails of what the gestures meant, so he let his gaze wander. He could see Beth still by the cooking fire, Carl beside her and holding a container for her as she scooped broth out of the pot. They were talking, and he saw Carl smile at her. Beth was shaking her head about something, her gaze flicking towards them as she said something else.

Matt's sharp voice pulled his attention back.

"No! Absolutely not!"

Laura was staring up at him, and he was struck by just how small she actually was. She barely reached Matt's shoulder, and the bagginess of her clothes only seemed to enhance how diminutive her frame really was. Even so, he'd seen, and felt, the strength in those thin arms she was folding over her abdomen. Her back was ramrod straight as she tipped her head back to meet the oldest boy's eyes as Brandon's flicked between the two of them.

She didn't raise her voice, but there was no mistaking her tone. "I don't believe I was askin' for yer permission."

If Matt heard the warning in her softly spoken words, he didn't heed it, and apparently had no problem letting the world know what he thought, his arm snapping out to point up at Daryl.

"We don't know these people from Adam's housecat, and ya wanna go _with _them? By yerself? Ain't no way. One of us is goin' with ya."

Looked like both of 'em had a sack on 'em, Daryl thought. They were damn right ballsy. Laura might have thought so too, but she wasn't about to let him know that.

"I need ya both here t'keep an eye on Amie and Jacob, keep 'em safe till I can get back."

"And who's gonna keep an eye on _you_?" Matt fired back, concern finally seeping through the angry glitter in his irises, and his voice became almost pleading. "Aunt Laura, please."

Laura sighed, her arms falling so that she could brace her hands on her hips. "Matt…"

Brandon interrupted her by putting his hand on his brother's shoulder and giving it a squeeze. Matt angled his head to look down at the younger boy, and he said, "Aunt Laura was handin' guys their asses back to 'em before we were even twinkles in Dad's eyes. I think she can handle it if shit goes down, man."

He yelped when he was unexpectedly cuffed on the back of the head. "What the hell was that for?"

Laura was unapologetic as she slid her palm down to his shoulder, reaching up with the other to clap her other nephew as well. "Language, Bubba. Now," she gave them each a serious look. "I should be back by dark. If not…"

She trailed off and both boys nodded, neither of them looking very happy.

"We hear ya, Aunt Laura," Matt answered the unspoken directive, and she dipped her head approvingly at him.

"Alright. I'll see ya at dusk."

She released them and they stood back so she could mount Chief, sliding the reins over her palm. Daryl met her gaze when she turned her head towards him.

"If y'all are done chit chattin', let's get this show on the road. Daylight ain't gonna last forever," he said, the mildness in his tone belying the impatience he felt.

"Fine," was her only response, bland and toneless as she backed Chief up and easily turned the buckskin around.

Daryl guided Brom ahead of her, and with Ty bringing up the rear, they started west.


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N: **_**Thank you all so much for all of the favs, reviews, and follows! I'm floored and humbled that Patchwork has picked up so many readers in such a short amount of time. Just...wow...**

**Anyways, here's the latest chapter. I hope you all enjoy! :D**

* * *

><p>The sun was well into the west by the time the edge of Murphy came into view. Laura saw Daryl checking his map out of the corner of her eye as she eased Chief to a stop. They were in the middle of a pot-hole pocked road, the painted lines that had once marked lanes badly faded from exposure and wear. Gina's hooves clapped loudly on the uneven pavement behind them as Ty reined her in on the other side of Daryl.<p>

"This it?" he asked, dark eyes roving over the dilapidated bridge ahead of them, several cars hanging precariously over its low railing, while others had stopped haphazardly across its narrow lanes.

Daryl grunted around the pencil he had clenched in his teeth before he pulled it out and scribbled something on the edge of the map. Folding it up and tucking it into his saddle bags, he pointed over the bridge.

"Yeah, this's it," he rasped, keeping his voice low as he unslung his crossbow and settled across his thighs. "Stay tight," he warned, pulling back the drawstring and sliding a bolt into place. "Ain't got no damned idea who or what might be up in there."

Laura nodded shortly. Clicking her tongue at Chief, she took point wordlessly, sliding her rifle out of its holster on the saddle. She leaned forward a bit as the men fell in behind her, single file, her eyes systematically sweeping back and forth. Other than the occasional note of birdsong and the steady drumming of their horses' hoofbeats, there was little other noise. The quiet was eerie in its way, unnatural, and Laura felt the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand up as they approached the bridge, the trees lining each side of the road falling away to reveal the steep, muddy banks of a wide river.

It languidly encircled the small town, sluggishly curving around an approximately two mile wide island, sort of like a moat. Large, darkly damp boulders rose out of the softly burbling water, bits of debris caught between their cracks and crevices. Glancing down, Laura could see two bloated bodies floating in the swirling current, the head wounds obvious where they'd tumbled, or perhaps had been pushed, off into the eddying water below, flesh, hair and cloth rippling like morbid banners.

Leaves fluttered up and down the remnants of the street as they guided the animals around abandoned vehicles, the scent of old decay and charred metal sharp in the air. It coated her tongue unpleasantly, and not for the first time, Laura wondered if she could convince Daryl to lend her a cigarette. She'd been wanting one since yesterday. Picking their way over shards of broken glass and crumbling corpses, she ruefully dismissed the desire to the back of her mind. It wasn't like she wouldn't live if she didn't get another one, quite the opposite; but damn, had it been nice to taste smoke again. Probably had been the first one since...God, she didn't even know, since right after getting off the plane in Charleston?

Her lips pressed into a thin line as the memory rose to the surface of her mind and with a subdued growl, she shoved it back down again before it could really take shape. Not the time or the place. That was a life long gone. Her eyes drifted down to her mangled hand, the remaining fingers clutching at the rifle.

Some days, she wished it good riddance.

Her other hand tightened on the reins as she passed the burned out husk of a large diesel truck. Running an appraising eye over it, she steered Chief clear, around the rusting bumper of a smaller sedan. The sound of the water below them was a distant murmur, just loud enough to soften the horses' tread. Laura split her focus between keeping an eye on the buildings ahead of them, wary of any movement, and ensuring that the gelding avoided any of the numerous hazards that littered the road. As they wound around the last couple of vehicles, a small, red brick sign became visible, flanked by two healthy looking oak trees, their branches nearly bare, and dappled with shadow from their rustling leaves.

The road split around it, small dogwoods lining the sidewalk, their leaves a brilliant mixture of reds and oranges, at least those that were still left on the boughs. A chill wind blew up from the water, sending piles of decay spinning across the street. Laura angled the rifle across her lap, her head swiveling left and right. They were downtown, it looked like, busted shop windows gapping open, glass still clinging to the panes like jagged fangs.

A stuttering movement caught her eye from down a narrow side street and she immediately pulled Chief to a stop. Turning her head towards Daryl, who was riding just behind her, she caught his eye and jerked her chin in the alley's direction before pointing to herself. His eyes narrowed as he sidled Brom up next to her, taking the reins from her as she slid off the saddle. Slinging the strap of the rifle over her shoulder, she drew the knife from her belt.

"Ty," she said in a low voice, keeping her gaze trained on the alley. He rode up on the other side of Daryl and dismounted, pulling out his hammer. Laura glanced at him. "Watch his back."

Daryl spoke sharply. "No." He looked down at Laura, taking the reins from Tyreese with a scowl. "I got 'em."

"Ya ain't gon' be able t'hitch them horses _and _hold that crossbow _and _keep an eye out at the same time," she argued, her brows drawing together in a pointed frown.

The look he gave her was withering as he kicked his heel against Brom's flank. "Been doin' a helluva lot more complicated shit than that before you showed up, Red. Think I can handle it."

Laura scowled at his back as he rode towards the sidewalk then swore softly under her breath. "Thick-headed asshole." Turning to Tyreese, she gestured towards the side street. "C'mon."

To tell the truth, she was more irritated with herself than with him. Too damned used to giving orders, that's what she was. And probably spent way too long off on her own with the kids, which went back to what she'd been thinking last night about all of them needing more time with other people. Clearly she'd spent more than enough, with only the boys for backup if something went fubar, and even then she tended to have them hang back to protect the little ones.

Laura dismissed her thoughts and pressed her back against sun-warmed brick and peered around the corner of the tiny drugstore that flanked one side of the alley. Ty ducked towards the large dumpster that squatted at the mouth of the street, empty and yet still wretchedly pugnant. Warily glancing around the street, she signaled for him to come behind her with two fingers and a tap on her shoulder as she started to move past the dumpster.

She heard it before she saw it, the sound of a sneaker scraping against concrete unnaturally loud in the cramped space. Laura dropped into a crouch, the blade of her knife pressing against her denim-clad thigh. There was a second dumpster just a bit further, past a rusted metal door that creaked with each gust of wind. But over that piercing squeak, she could hear the telltale mumbling groan. Slipping to her knees, she bent down until her cheek was pressed against the damp pavement.

She held up one finger, high enough so that she could be sure Ty would see it. Then she pointed towards the door, glancing back to see him nod to her and move. She pushed up, keeping low as she eased around the side of the dumpster, giving the dark doorway a wide berth. It was swaying near the wall, rocking forward and back again. Silently, she crept behind it. Grabbing it around its throat, she thrust her arm forward and slid her knife through the back of its skull. With barely more than a gurgle, it dropped. She bent over and jerked the knife free. When she turned around, Tyreese was at the open door, glancing between her and the dim interior just within.

Quietly, Laura moved beside him and softly whispered, "Just the one, but where there _is _one…"

"There's usually more," he finished for her, his voice a low rumble. She nodded and he tilted his head towards the building. "Ain't heard nuthin', but that don't mean there ain't somethin' in there. Reckon we ought t'clear it?"

She pursed her lips thoughtfully, then shook her head. "Nah. This here's just a little gift shop, from wha' the letterin' on the front door said. Don't reckon there'd be anythin' in there worth goin' after. Better leave whatever might be in there be. Ain't no sense in stirrin' up more hornets than we gotta."

Ty grunted agreeably and they quickly backtracked to the main street. Daryl was still astride Brom, the reins of all three horses gathered in one hand while the other held his crossbow, aimed upwards. He let out a breath when they appeared around the corner.

"Anythin'?"

"Just a walker," Ty answered him quietly, taking Gina's reins back.

"Tch." Daryl made an unimpressed sound and gestured up the street. "Looks like there's a pharmacy up that a way, maybe a Dollar General or somethin' like that once we get off this street here."

"Alright," Laura said, adjusting her rifle across her back as she swung back up into the saddle. "Better keep an eye on them alleys," she said, smoothing the reins through the fingers of her left hand and rolling her shoulder to settle the rifle once again over her lap. "I ain't too keen on havin' t'fight off a pack of 'em if we can help it."

Daryl grunted and edged Brom forward, setting the crossbow across his thighs. "C'mon."

They fell back into single file, Laura guiding Chief between the other two horses. The wind picked up as the slowly rode and it seemed to make the street come alive. Creaks and groans echoed around them, the trashed businesses with their gaping windows howling despondently like living beasts. Many of the buildings were clearly old, their second story panes chipped. Some of them still even had shutters haphazardly attached at their sides, flapping and shuddering with every gust. Cracks spidered through dusty, ancient glass, giving the illusion of bloodshot eyes staring out onto the deserted street and further enhancing the sensation that they were being watched.

The occasional chill attempted to chase down her spine as they steered away from what had once been downtown. They passed under a long dead stoplight, the dull lenses lurching in the wind. Daryl stopped them in the center of the crossroads, carefully turning Brom to squint in each direction. Laura did the same, noting the low hanging black clouds that were gathering to the east of them. Directly ahead of them the road ended in a small, one lane dirt road that wound through the wrought iron gate of a cemetery, ill kempt and rapidly becoming overgrown. To the west, she could see more businesses, the remains of fast food joints and boarded up gas stations visible at the bottom of a slight incline. Further down the road, past a once neatly trimmed line of trees and several tall signs, she could make out the edge of several parking lots.

She pointed in that direction. "Reckon that's our best bet, yeah?"

The wind shifted as she spoke, a damp scent wafting in from the east and leaving a cold, wet taste on her tongue. Her gaze drifted back to the clouds she could see above the treeline just beyond the river. Dark grey and slick on the bottom, their edges seemed to brush the tops of the taller pines. An hour, maybe two, before the rain hit. She had ponchos in her saddlebags, but she seriously doubted either Brandon or Matt's would be big enough for Tyreese.

"Probably," Daryl replied, distracting her. He glanced over his shoulder at the darkening eastern sky. "Don't look like we're gonna have time t'do this quiet." He clicked his tongue at Brom. "Let's move."

Laura nudged Chief with her knees, encouraging the gelding into a trot and rolling her shoulder, grabbing her rifle and slipping it back into its holster. The horses hooves' clopped loudly on the pavement, and as they reached the bottom of the hill, there were already a handful of walkers staggering out to meet them.

Spotting them, she felt both excitement and anxiety tighten her gut, and she urged suddenly Chief into a gallop. They leapt over a low standing police barricade, Laura pulling sharply on the reins to weave between a pair of tightly packed cars. She slid her knife out of her belt as they careened around the back end of a small taurus and slammed it through a rancid woman's eye socket. A bolt sailed past her into the skull of another as she twisted in the saddle, yanking on the hilt and jerking Chief to a stop. It slid out with a squelching sound, the walker hitting the ground in a heap. Her arm swung in an arc as she tugged on the reins, her grip on the knife reversing before driving into the temple of the animated corpse on her right.

She pulled it out roughly, flipping it in her fingers while her eyes darted over the surrounding area. She saw Tyreese smash his hammer down, bone and fluid splattering onto the road wetly. He flicked his wrist to clear the larger chunks of tissue from the hammer's head, then reached into his back pocket for a dirty looking rag, swiping it over the dull-looking metal. When she turned her head again, Daryl had thrown his leg over his saddle and slid off Brom. The big horse pawed the ground restlessly, several motionless bodies strewn in a wide radius around him.

All in all, it had taken less than three minutes. Cleaning off her own weapon, Laura canted her head, trying to listen for any other indications of movement over the steadily increasing wind and the sound of her thundering heartbeat, the adrenaline slow to leave her system. A glance back at Ty revealed he was likely doing the same, dark eyes roaming.

But she heard nothing.

Sheathing her knife once again at her hip, she walked Chief towards Daryl as he crouched over the body of a thick-bodied man. With a grunt, he jerked his green-fletched bolt free.

"You good?" she asked him, eyeing the deserted stretch of highway ahead of them.

"Yeah." He wiped off the arrowhead, then snapped it back into place on his crossbow and stood.

She didn't miss the wince when he did. But she didn't mention it either, turning Chief back around and taking point. She could smell the water from here, the river easily seen from her vantage point atop the buckskin. Brown grass sloped down to its wide, dark banks, dried leaves swept up by the wind floating on its listless surface.

"Clear," she heard Ty call from behind her, and she turned her head to regard Daryl as he set himself back up in the saddle.

"Reckon it's wishful t'think that'll be all of 'em."

He snorted derisively. "Somethin' like that, yeah."

"I thought as much." She shook her head, letting out a breath and flicking the reins. "It'd be nice though."

"If wishes were horses," Ty supplied good-naturedly from the rear.

"Beggars would ride," Laura heard Daryl mutter, which made the corners of her mouth quirk up slightly.

She led them off the main road towards the parking lot to their left, figuring that the horses would have an easier time moving over the cleared terrain. There was far less debris than what littered the highway, what few cars remained parked fairly close to the buildings, leaving large swaths of unoccupied asphalt and grass. Aiming for the large yellow and black sign at the far edge of town, she set Chief at a brisk pace, keeping a wary eye on the clouds rapidly closing in behind them.

The faint scent of gasoline lingered near the desolate pumps as they rode by, their unused hoses peeling from disuse and the constant battering of the elements. What had once been bright, colorful neon lights now hung faded, collapsing from roofs and windows alike, shards of glass and filaments lying slivered and scattered. Rusting shopping carts were everywhere, their wheels squeaking when the wind pushed against them, sending them shuttering and creakily protesting one centimeter at a time. A flock of blackbirds cawed loudly as they passed a small row of dogwood trees, taking flight in a flurry of feathers and disgruntled squawks. Laura slowed long enough to check if their crowing had caught the attention of anything possibly lurking nearby, but nothing else stirred. Shoving her good hand through her hair, she nudged Chief back into a quick canter.

The small lot in front of what used to be a tiny dollar store was completely barren, dead weeds already having started to push their way through the chips in the concrete. Swinging her leg over the horn of the saddle, Laura dismounted for the second time, twining the reins around the single security light near the door that had long since burnt out, its thin metal pole cold when she brushed her knuckles against it. She straightened and looked towards Ty as he hitched Gina to a concrete post, its red paint dulled, but surprisingly intact. Leaving her rifle where it was, she instead flipped the nearest saddlebag up, retrieving the thick bladed machete she kept beneath it. She strapped it to her hip, making sure that it wouldn't impede her movement if she had to run.

Reaching inside the bag, she also pulled out a small flashlight and tucked it into the waistband of her jeans.

When she turned, she saw that Daryl had also dismounted, his crossbow aimed downward in his right hand as he faced the parking lot. But she saw his gaze flicker from the corner of his eye to the large sheath at her waist. Her eyes narrowed.

"What?"

He gave her a sidelong glance and shook his head. "Nuthin'." When she just stared at him skeptically, he added, still not looking at her fully, "You gonna be able to swing that thing?"

She felt a sharp sense of irritation sweep through her, making her skin heat uncomfortably.

"Why?" she asked waspishly, knowing she sounded defensive. He did look at her then, jerking his chin in her direction.

"Cause ya got arms like toothpicks and just one good hand," he bluntly said.

She had to bite her tongue, hard.

It was a fair point. She didn't have to like it for that to be true. Didn't mean she had to acknowledge it either, spinning around in pretense of checking over the saddle. Now who was mule-headed?

"Ready?" She asked Tyreese, her hand trailing Chief's neck as she came around him.

He nodded to her, one hand braced on the pistol at his hip while in the other he held the sacks he had brought from the barn."Yeah."

Laura glanced back at Daryl, gripping her knife in her bad hand. "Whistle if ya see anythin'. Should be able t'hear it in there."

If he was uncomfortable taking an order from her, it didn't show on his face. He just dipped his head towards her, shouldering his crossbow easily. She didn't miss how he was still favoring his right leg.

'C'mon," she said to Ty, moving to one side of the double doors.

Clenching the hilt of the knife between her teeth, she bent down and slipped her fingers into the lower half of the crack. She waited a beat for the big man across from her to get situated then, with a nod, heaved. He matched her, the muscles in his arms cording as the doors gave with a shrill squeal. Laura froze, holding her breath as all three of them listened for any movement within the dark store.

But the interior stayed quiet.

Exhaling softly, Laura released the doors and dropped the knife back into her hand, standing in the doorway to give her eyes time to adjust to the gloom. Many of the aisles had been ransacked, cans, baskets, bags, and boxes tossed across the floor. Shelves had been ripped from their moorings, left to hang haphazardly and their contents sent spilling in every direction. Not even the lights had been spared, the wires stripped and exposed as the fluorescent tubes dangled aimlessly from the ceiling.

She exchanged a look with Tyreese, who'd come to stand beside her just inside the doors.

"Right," he rumbled, knocking his hammer dully against his thigh. "Let's make this quick."

They parted without a further word, Laura moving to the left, towards the clothing section while he slinked right, his tread surprisingly little more than a soft squeak of rubber against the cheap tile flooring. Dropping down to her belly for the second time that day, she peered beneath the garments still left on their racks and listened.

Nothing moved.

There was no sound; not even the quiet breaths she inhaled past her cracked lips registered to her ears. The floor was cold, seemed to suck the heat right out of her skin, and she could feel the odd vibration of her own blood pumping with every heartbeat, reverberating where her palms lay flat. Silently, she slipped up and between the racks, skimming her eyes over them. Mostly summer clothes, thin material that offered little protection from the wet cold that pervaded the winters in this part of the country. There were a couple of children's jackets that looked like they would fit the kids, so she scooped them off their hangers and stuffed them into the sack.

Moving quickly, she headed deeper into the store. What little was left in the two aisles that served as the pharmacy, she also shoved into the sack. Bandages, a bottle of alcohol that she counted herself lucky to find rolled under a shelf, a couple tubes of Neosporin, a few bags of cotton balls, some packets of aspirin, and other odds and ends that would probably end up being useful. Gripping the bag in her good hand, she walked on, up and down each aisle, plucking up anything that might be of use. They were lucky. Didn't look like anyone had come in and really picked through much more than the front of the store. She found comforters still in their plastic bags, batteries, flashlights, even canned goods.

She ended up in the small, one-rack hardware department. Ty was already there, looking over the tools that still hung on their pegs.

"Find much?" she asked him softly.

He made a distracted humming sound as he lifted several small plastic boxes of nails and dropped them into the bag he held at his hip, the other one set on the ground and bulging with what he'd scavenged. Leery, Laura glanced over her shoulder towards the still open front doors as a chill gust drifted in from outside. Her index finger curled around the cuff of her jacket and tugged it down over the scarred flesh of her hand. The quiet was eerie, made her jumpy. They had enough. Why tempt fate?

She nudged his arm with her elbow. "C'mon."

Without waiting, she turned and headed for the doors at a fast clip, an itchy, uncomfortable sensation settling between her shoulder blades. You'd think she'd have been used to the silence that pervaded towns like this one. The dead didn't made much noise, unless they were wound up. People these days tended to know better than to draw attention to themselves if they could help it. And yet she still found it unnerving.

Most people believed that there's no silence in a war zone, only a constant cacophony of gunfire and shelling. They like to think that's the reason why some vets come back unable to stand the lack of sound. Makes them feel clever when they tell someone else that, as if they have some modicum of understanding, some insight into what it's like that makes them better able to empathize. Truth was, it was the damned quiet that was more likely to get you killed. More often than not, it afforded you time to retreat into your own head and start trying to reason out what was going on. Instincts take a back seat then. Your brain starts working shit out, takes up your attention. You start wondering what the hell you're even doin', and why. You wanna know when you're gonna see stateside, when's the next time you'll get to tuck your kids in at night. You wonder what's the next thing you'll miss and how much longer you've got till you can kiss the pisshole part of the world goodbye. You get so caught up in it, you don't listen when your gut's screaming at you to put your goddamned head down.

And before you know it, a bullet's slammed through your skull and kindly ended the whole process for ya.

See that happen enough times, anybody'd be suspicious of shit bein' too quiet.

Laura blinked as she came back out into the open. The sky was had an ominous cast to it, darkly grey, and the air had a new, icy bite to it that made her shiver. Not good. Laura spotted Daryl near the far end of the front parking row, leaning his right hip against a concrete pole. Trying to keep most of his weight of his bad leg, she suspected. With one finger resting on the trigger, he cradled the butt of his crossbow just beneath his bicep. He caught her eye and she nodded shortly to him.

The tuft of ginger at the end of her braid bounced against her lower back as dropped her bag next to Chief, tying its end closed as best she could before lifting it again, and with a heave, tossed it across the back of her saddle. Chief whickered, perhaps in protest to the additional weight, and Laura reached out to stroke his neck soothingly. Then she moved to secure the load, ducking under the big gelding's head to circle round to the other side.

Daryl shouldered his crossbow and stood across from her, watching her tie the knots from over Chief's back. His gaze was narrowed on her hands and from beneath the fringe of her bangs, she could see his mouth tighten. She pinched the straps awkwardly between the remaining thumb and forefinger of her right hand while those of her left quickly went to work on looping the coarse leather around itself. Tension gathered in her shoulders, feeling the weight of his forthright stare. Part of her wanted to snap at him. It was a damned miracle she hadn't yet. She wasn't exactly the most patient person left in the world, or the most tolerant. But she figured if he had a problem, he'd say something. Hadn't had an issue keeping his opinion to himself earlier.

But he never said a word, not even when she aimed a dark glare directly at him when she was finished,silently daring him to say anything. He just turned abruptly and pulled himself up into the saddle. What the hell was that?

She wasn't given time to answer that question, muttering a sharp curse when something frigid and wet dripped against her cheek. It crinkled on her skin, instantly dissolving into a droplet that slipped down her neck coldly. Her head jerked up to study the clouds overhead.

She touched her cheek in bewilderment, her ill temper melting away like the flakes that were slowly starting to drift down.

"Snow?" she heard Ty ask incredulously behind her.

She lowered her eyes and instantly met Daryl's. His rough voice echoed hers.

"Shit."

She jerked the reins free from where she'd hitched them and swung up onto Chief, actually, honest-to-God able to feel the drop as the temperature plummeted. Ty was right behind her and in minutes, they were already trotting back up the road. Hoofbeats clattered in a sharp, ringing cadence on the pavement. Unholstering her rifle, Laura guided Chief with her knees as she took aim at the few walkers they'd missed their first ride through town, every gunshot a painfully loud echo that bounced off every craggy rock and building in the valley. More of the dead would be lured out, but stealth was no longer an option.

Daryl swung Brom around sharply to avoid trampling a slight female walker, letting loose a bolt that dropped her on the sidewalk she'd been lurching from. "We're not gonna make it back before dark." He pointed at the ground. "This shit ain't gonna melt."

He was right. And the snow was already falling more thickly. Laura felt her stomach knot unpleasantly.

"I ain't too keen on bein' stuck this side of the mountains till it does," she replied, giving him a sidelong look.

A fact that she didn't like one damned bit. Matt was going to have kittens.

"Should we find somewhere t'hole up?" Ty asked as they crossed the wide bridge that led out of Murphy, tugging on Gina's reins.

Daryl grunted, sidling Brom up beside the mare. "Probably. S'just snow, but we'd be better off tryin' t'get as far from here as possible, then maybe set up camp." He glanced at Laura. "Ya might not be keen on bein' stuck, but I ain't too fond of losin' any of the horses t'a broke leg. Or worse, walkers."

Reluctantly, she nodded. "Fine, but quit yer jawin' and let's move. Cover some ground 'fore we gotta look at either one of them possibilities."

Daryl scowled at her.

"No arguments here," Ty said, urging Gina back into a canter and taking the lead. "This way."

"Yer one bossy woman, ya know that?" Daryl asked her as Brom fell into step beside Chief.

She didn't answer him.


End file.
